Heart of Rhûn
by Caranthol
Summary: Two Gondorian thieves get the job of their lives when they are hired to steal the mysterious Heart of Rhûn. But to accomplish that they have to undertake a dangerous journey across Middle-Earth, full of surprises. Starts in 1304 TA, 1700 years pre-LotR.
1. Chapter 1: An Unexpected Visitor

Disclaimer: I own nothing that J.R.R. Tolkien wrote whatsoever. Only the characters that I myself have created (practically anyone that isn't familiar from Tolkien's published works) for this story are mine. A/N: 29/01/2009: I have corrected some typos and grammatical errors. I thank Elemental-Jedi-Elf for pointing them out for me.

Chapter 1: An Unexpected Visitor

Belhast arranged the cards on the table before him, looking closely at them in the faint light of candles and a flickering oil lamp. A nervous-looking girl sat opposite him, a servant judging from her clothes. She wrung her hands nervously and asked timidly:

"What do you see?"

Belhast looked at her briefly, before resuming his study of the cards. With a firm and rebuking voice he said:

"Do not be hasty. The cards must be studied carefully, or I may go wrong."

He mumbled to himself in nearly inaudible voice, making the girl still more nervous. Then he turned one card more and said, after looking at it:

"Thank the Valar, girl, for your greatest wish will come true. I see a young man, who does not yet know that he is in love. The cards tell me he is one who is near you. Look at the ace of hearts. See, it is between you and him. But also there are pentacles and staves. That means, my dear girl, that there still is something separating you. Ah, I have it! For there is the card of silence, and another of fear!"

The girl seemed to be crestfallen, when Belhast looked up to her. He smiled, however, and dealt another row of cards. He looked briefly at them and said:

"Have hope, girl! The cards do not lie, and now they show me that the obstacles will be overcome. There will be courage, and with it the silence will be broken. And love will spring forth."

The girl leaned forward, asking eagerly:

"Tell me, Master Belhast, who will break the silence?"

Belhast looked at the cards.

"It will be you, for your fears shall be dissolved in very near future. See, how the three sword cards are grouped, the nine indicating resolution, five courage and ten success."

The girl clasped her hands together, her pretty face beaming with delight.

"Oh, I am so happy! Thank you, Master Belhast, for revealing this to me!"

She got up and almost danced when she went towards the door. She was stopped, however, by a loud cough from Belhast. Blushing, she returned to the table and drew a purse from her belt.

"Ah, of course, of course! I nearly forgot in my joy."

She counted five copper coins in the outstretched palm of the fortune-teller and went out. Belhast looked at the coins, feeling pleased. He put them into his pocket and rose from his seat, yawning widely. It was very late in evening and his day had been long, with all kinds of customers running in and out. He sighed to himself:

"And I thought this would be easy when I started this."

Usually it was easy enough, as in the last case. Every word and look of the girl had told Belhast "I am in love". He had developed a good sense of other peoples' feelings in the past five years he had been in his present occupation, having left a world of petty crime and burgling. Most probably the girl loved a handsome man-servant or coachman in her house but dared not to speak to him. Belhast had had many customers of this sort. If somebody had directly advised them to show their feelings openly they would have been terrified or started to invent excuses. But when the cards were spread before them... Well, the predictions made themselves come true. Belhast was sure that the serving-maid who had just left would speak to the man she loved the next week at latest. As she had seemed to be a comely and attractive girl, a positive result was probable. And Belhast's reputation would grow a little.

Wearily he took off his wide deep blue cloak, adorned all over with crude silvery stars. He hung it in a cupboard, grimacing at it. He hated the garment, because it offended his good taste. But it was good to have, since it seemed to give him a mysterious air in the eyes of his mostly unlearned and lowly customers. He wondered again why a fortune-teller or magician had to be dressed like a fool to be believed, but dismissed the idea as something that could not be helped.

He prepared some tea and sat before the table again, shuffling the pack of cards. He knew well all the tricks of his trade and most of his predictions were very "tailored", but he still more than half believed that the cards could show the future in earnest. There had been some curious incidents, when the cards could not be interpreted but in one way, which had seemed highly improbable and which he couldn't have been invented from his own head. Yet the customers who had had these predictions had later come back and told him that the cards had spoken true. But on the other hand Belhast had had a few resounding failures also. Still, he had respect for the unseen powers that were supposed to speak through the cards and at least once a week he tried to predict his own future with them.

With his left hand he divided the pack in three parts on the table, then collected the small packs into one in reverse order. He was now ready and took the knight of the hearts, his symbol card, apart. then he dealt three rows of six cards below it. The pack was not ordinary playing cards, but besides the usual cards had twenty-two picture cards that belonged to none of the four suits. They were held to be the most fateful and to convey the most meaningful predictions. Belhast was worried because of that: for some months he had had the same two picture cards every time he tried to glimpse into the future. The top rows implying his fate over the next few weeks always changed, as they should, but the bottom line was always the same: nine of staves for a change, ten of the swords for success and ten of staves for money. There was also the queen of the hearts, implying a woman. That was actually very clear and encouraging, but the two picture cards troubled him: The Wheel of Fortune and the Fool. He had always cursed that the meanings of the picture cards were not as precise as those of the ordinary ones. The only thing he could make out of this combination was that perhaps he would be succesful in some venture, maybe encountering a blonde woman. But the picture cards... Perhaps he would lose the wealth he would gain through his own stupidity. Or he would not see something obvious, thereby having to go through much trouble.

He looked at the cards, waiting to see the usual combination. He started when he saw that the card of change was now in the top row, alongside those of a surprise, a journey and trouble. The last two cards were the knight of the swords and the king of the pentacles. Belhast mused:

"So, trouble and a journey... through a dark old man and a brownhaired younger man. Could that be, that Finrosc...?"

His thoughts were interrupted, however, by a quiet sound coming from his bedchamber. He stood abruptly up, taking a poker in his hand. Living in the shadiest streets of the second level of Minas Anor he knew that the threat of burglars was always present. Gripping the poker he carefully approached the door to his chamber, his heart beating so loudly that he fancied the burglars must hear it.

He slammed the door open, holding the poker aloft and shouting:

"All right, you villains! Get out from my house and I don't have to break any heads!"

Seeing nobody, he stopped short and lowered his weapon. For a moment he wondered if he had imagined the sound, but then the door behind him was shut and an amused voice said:

"Well, brother, I expected a warmer welcome. But I am glad to see you nonetheless."

Belhast turned to see the smiling face of his foster-brother Finrosc.


	2. Chapter 2: Stranger in the Night

Disclaimer: See chapter 1.

Chapter 2: Stranger in the Night

Belhast needed a moment to regain his composure, before he said:

"Oh, it's you. Can't you use doors? You scared the shit out of me for a moment."

Finrosc grinned, his green eyes shining with amusement.

"I think it is best for me to avoid using doors for some time, or any clearly visible entrance for that matter."

Belhast sighed wearily.

"So the city guard is after you again?" Seeing Finrosc nod with a careless shrug, he went on:

"Haven't you learned anything? You are a bard, surely you could make a living without burgling or stealing."

Finrosc laughed at this, shaking his head.

"Fine words from you! If my memory serves me right, it was you who was counted among the best thieves of Minas Anor only a few years ago. You had good luck, though, when you stole those cards of yours. Cheating money from gullible girls and old ladies must be easier than evading city guards in dirty lanes. Besides, nowadays being a bard just doesn't pay, there is too much competition."

Belhast was offended by this, and his voice was sharp when he answered:

"I do not cheat anybody, and I have many customers other than old ladies! It is not my fault if you are too lazy to learn anything other than pick-pocketing and playing your damned lute. Now, had you any good reason for this visit?"

Finrosc put on his face a false injured look.

"What, is not seeing how my dear brother is a good enough reason? Oh, how short some people's memories can be! To me it is just like yesterday when we played our childish games in sunny days." He feigned to stifle a sob. Belhast bit his lower lip and waited, tapping his fingers on the doorframe. After a little while Finrosc had jested enough and spoke:

"To be serious, I have a reason to come to see you. What would you say of a large sum of money?"

Belhast's eyes widened at this and he mumbled:

"So the cards were correct again..."

Finrosc waved his hand impatiently, exclaiming:

"To hell with your cards! Do you want money or not?"

Belhast answered warily:

"It depends on what I must do for it. I admit that I could have use for some silver."

The other only snapped his fingers, whistling contemptuosly.

"Silver? Pshaw! We are talking of gold and of a great deal of that, too. I have been offered a job and must decide if I take it by tomorrow noon. I would have come to you earlier, but there were all kinds of delays, the guards not the least of them."

Belhast pondered on this. Finrosc seemed to be quite confident and that had an effect upon Belhast, too. And the money would be very welcome indeed, if there was so much to be got as Finrosc claimed. He was still undecided, however, so he asked:

"Do you have any details? I don't say yes or no before I know more."

Now Finrosc's confidence seemed to waver somewhat, and he scratched the back of his head.

"The thing is that I don't have many details yet. I'll meet my contact person this night and he'll tell us more. The only thing I know is that I am wanted to steal something really, really valuable." Here Belhast broke in:

"It involves also some travel, maybe even outside Gondor, doesn't it?"

Finrosc shot a puzzled look at him.

"Why, yes. Sometimes you really are weird. How did you know?"

Belhast only shrugged, knowing that no amount of persuasion could break his brother's disbelief in the power of the cards. Instead of speaking of that, he asked:

"Why did you come to propose this to me? I have left those things."

Finrosc answered:

"Because you were a very clever thief in your time. I'd gladly use some competent help, since this may not prove to be a very easy job. If this job leads us out of Gondor, I'd like that somebody I really know would be around. Besides, we are family, at least sort of. I know that our relations have not been the best lately, but would you not even consider helping me?"

Belhast sat on his bed, musing on this. Their relations had indeed deteriorated somewhat in the past five years and he regretted that. When they had been children, Finrosc had been very dear to him. The latter had been left an orphan, when his parents had died in an accident. Belhast's parents, who had known the deceased couple had taken the two-year-old Finrosc to their family, since either the boy had no living relatives or they did not care. The two boys were of same age and had been best friends when they grew up. Despite of the poverty of their parents they had been quite happy for years. But then a sickness had took Belhast's parents, and the then thirteen-year-old boys had been left to fend for themselves. Naturally they had drifted towards the criminal underworld, the odd jobs they got sometimes being few and far between, and too poorly paid. Belhast had finally quitted that life after twelve years, and now, in the age of thirty, he was generally content with his life.

Still, the thought of money burned in him, whispering of all kinds of things he could have and do. The fortune-telling provided his basic needs but not much more. For one thing, he had to pay rent of his house and was sometimes at his wits' end as to how to accomplish that. Secondly, the idea of working once more with his foster-brother was quite pleasant, the latter being intelligent and humorous, besides of being also an applauded professional. However, he remained undecided until he remembered the cards. He knew that he was perhaps stupid, but his long habit was to let the last word to the cards in situations like this. And now the signs were so clear, at least when it came to the success of this venture. He stood up.

"All right, I will at least come with you to the customer and hear all of it. I am already disposed to help you." Finrosc clapped his back, laughing:

"Now that's the way of it!"

------

After half an hour Belhast stood in a corner of dirty, narrow lanes, waiting for Finrosc. The latter had went out by the bedroom window, while Belhast had gone normally through the door. There were no city guards to be seen, however, so Belhast thought the precautions to be quite excessive. After the warmth of his house he shuddered for a time in the chilly night air, the month being Narquelië and a rainy and cold one, too. He yawned and started to hum a tune, since it seemed to take some time for Finrosc to arrive.

It was not long, however, when his foster-brother walked warily to him. He was so silent that Belhast was aware of him only when he was only a few yards away. Without a word Finrosc signed Belhast to follow. There were no lanterns in streets and they were both clad in black cloaks, so they were like passing shadows, when they started to walk down the lane.

They turned around a corner to a dark street. The houses along it were decrepit, some looking deserted and like they were about to crumble to the ground any moment. The buildings were mostly three or four storeys high, with small windows and deep doorways. The street was so narrow that the houses seemed to lean towards each other, leaving only a slit of the sky peering from between their roofs. There was all kinds of rubbish on the ground and both men stumbled a few times before their eyes accustomed to the darkness that was even deeper than before. No one else was in the street as far as they could see. Belhast whispered:

"Are you sure that this is the right place? It seems all empty."

"This is the street, I am completely sure. But where is the guy we are going to meet, I wonder?" was the quiet reply.

They walked slowly down the street, peering to the side lanes and doorways. They saw nobody, however, and were becoming impatient. But just at the end of street, when they were about to turn and go away, they heard a whisper from a dark doorway:

"Roscy, is that you?"

Finrosc and Belhast turned and saw a hand beckoning them to step inside. They did so and shut the crude door behind them. In the darkness of the corridor they were now in they saw a cloaked figure standing before them. Finrosc said, now louder than outside:

"Let's have some light, Crow! It's stupid to stand here in darkness, since nobody can see the lamp from outside anyway."

Clank of steel on piece of flint was heard and in a moment a lamp was lit, revealing their surroundings. Belhast looked around him, blinking in the sudden light. He noticed that they were in the corridor of a rental house of many apartments. The house seemed to have long been empty, however. The floor was dirty, with pieces of broken furniture and torn rags lying around. The wooden stairs leading upwards were worn and in places broken to sticks. Altogether the house looked miserable, a suitable place for this meeting.

Then Belhast looked at the man called Crow by Finrosc. The man was a bit less than middle-sized and despite the dark grey cloak that covered him from head to toe one could guess that he was quite skinny. A mask was over his face, leaving only eyes visible. They shone with displeasure, when Crow spoke:

"Who's that, Roscy? I thought you would come alone." Finrosc waved his hand dismissively.

"Did you really think that I would go to the end of the earth, perhaps, without any help? I can trust him, he is my brother Belhast. I guess you have met before."

Crow looked more closely at Belhast and satisfied by the result he removed his mask and pulled back the hood of his cloak. His face was thin, with a sharp and relatively big nose. Obviously that, along his black hair, had earned him his nickname. Bird-like he turned his head a bit sideways, exclaiming:

"Yes, now I know you! A clever bastard you were, Hasty, I must say that. I've heard you are now in other business. A shame, really, with your skills."

Belhast grinned when he heard his old nickname. Now he also recognized the face of Crow, who had been a notorious pickpocket and fraud. He shook hands with him, asking:

"How are you, old buddy? Still cutting purses and forging bills?"

The other laughed, his voice as thin and dry as everything else in him.

"No, I have gone upwards in this world. I am now the lieutenant of the Boss, that's why I am here. I handle the contacts with customers, among other things."

Belhast was quite surprised and felt due respect towards Crow. It was not widely known, but thieves and other criminals were gathered in guilds as were almost all the other professions in Gondor. The Guildmaster, called simply the Boss, of Minas Anor was second to that of Osgiliath only and to become his lieutenant was no small feat. Crow saw Belhast's eyes widen and shrugged.

"Well, it is quite a lucrative position, but one big shitload of work, too. Now, let's go to the present business. The customer is some weird guy from Pelargir, so the messenger said. I do not know in what manner he is weird, and don't care, for that matter. The main thing is, he is rich as hell and will pay you handsomely. The Guild has already had its cut of profit, so you don't need to worry about that. All you need to know now is how to contact the customer." He slipped his hand inside his cloak and drew a little package out of a hidden pocket, handing it to Finrosc.

"The address is here, along with other information. Read it later and then burn it. He demanded that a password would be used when you arrive at his place. He sure is paranoid, but that is only prudent. It is good, Roscy, that you took only your brother in this. He expressly instructed that two is the maximum number for this venture. Obviously he fears that otherwise somebody would talk too much." He snorted.

"As if we didn't know how to keep our mouths shut! Very well, on your way then! See you, Roscy, nice to see you again in business, Hasty!"

He extinguished the lamp and the brothers turned to go. But just as they were going out of the door, Crow whispered for the last time:

"Do not mess this one up, Roscy! When I heard of this job I immediately recommended you, since I know your skills and heard that the ground of Gondor burns under your feet presently. If the thing goes wrong, I'll suffer too!"

Finrosc turned his head, smiling.

"Don't worry, old pal, I won't let you down. See you!"

The duo walked out and vanished into night, leaving Crow to stand on the threshold, gazing after them.

Read and review, please. The idea of Thieves' Guild may seem to be far-fetched, but it has historical support. In the 14th Century France, for instance, there were groups of criminals complete with hierarchy and ranks of masters, journeymen and apprentices.


	3. Chapter 3: Sarge's Visit

Disclaimer: See chapter 1.

Chapter 3: Sarge's Visit

The brothers walked in a brisk pace towards the house of Belhast. The night grew even colder than before, as wind strengthened, driving dry leaves before it. Finrosc was already nervous, but the rustle made him constantly turn his head to and fro, his face paling. Belhast grew irritated by this and asked:

"You are like a rabbit in a trap! What did you do, if the guards want you so badly?"

Finrosc answered:

"Have you heard of the bank robbery in Osgiliath, six months ago? I was one of the masterminds behind it. Some guys were caught and talked too much. Damn them, almost all of the spoil was lost!"

Belhast nodded. Almost every one from Minas Ithil to Lebennin had heard of the robbery. One of the vaults of a bank used by the richest merchants and some government offices had been opened and the robbers had taken silver and gems worth some hundreds of gold pieces, enough to make a small fortune for several people. But after a month it had been reported that the money had been recovered by the guards and that the villains were in prison. Finrosc went on bitterly:

"I could have lived like a lord, but no! I was fortunate to have this job of ours offered to me. Even without it I should have got clear of Gondor. If I am caught, I will be almost surely hanged. And if not, I will rot in gaol for the rest of my life."

Belhast grunted sympatethically, now understanding the whole thing. He said:

"Well, if this job is really as well paid as you said, you can bribe the judges and witnesses when we return."

Finrosc snorted.

"Yeah, I really hope so."

------

After an hour they finally got near Belhast's house. At a street corner Finrosc waved at his foster-brother and said:

"Well, see you soon. I'll sneak again through the window."

He turned to a dark alley, but stopped when Belhast spoke:

"Come on, you are just paranoid! How could they know that you are in the city?"

Finrosc answered shortly:

"They know, be sure of that."

Then he walked down the lane, vanishing in the shadows. Belhast shook his head and strode towards his home. The distance was less than a half a mile and he went leisurely, thinking of all that he had heard that day. The whole thing was very intriguing, since nobody seemed to know anything exact. For a moment he thought about leaving Finrosc to handle the job alone, but dismissed the idea. His old instincts had woken up and if there was so much money to be earned, Belhast wanted to have his part of it. Besides, he couldn't leave Finrosc alone after the latter had asked him. The trust Finrosc had shown warmed Belhast's heart. He wasn't going to shirk now, after he had already assented to help his foster-brother.

While he reached the end of his thoughts he had come almost to his own door. He smiled, thinking of his soft bed and pleasant warmth of his home. He took his key out of his pocket and was going to put it into the keyhole when he was suddenly grabbed by strong hands and pushed against the door. He struggled, but ceased when somebody commanded:

"Stop that or we'll put you to chains!"

When he was still the person behind him let him go, grunting:

"Much better."

Belhast turned and saw four men in uniforms of the city guard, one of them a sergeant whom he had had a dubious honour to know during his earlier career. He said in an irritated voice:

"Don't you have any better things to do? There are real criminals loose, you know."

The sergeant grinned.

"That's precisely why we are here. Have you seen your brother lately?" Belhast feigned indignation, although his knees trembled slightly.

"No, I haven't, not for three years! I'll complain to your chief that you are pestering me without reason. I have seen the error of my ways, and now I am..."

"A loyal subject and an honest man and all that blah blah," interrupted the sergeant. He picked his teeth with his nails and asked abruptly:

"Well, old pal, don't you invite us in? It's a pleasant chat we are having but it's a bit cold here."

Belhast gave him a crooked smile.

"So, want to hear your future, sarge? Having problems in love life or what is it?"

The sergeant was not amused.

"Shut your hole and open that door! I don't want to be obliged to smash it in."

With a shrug Belhast obeyed and swung the door open, letting the guards in first. He feared that Finrosc had already came back, but knew also that he himself would be arrested immediately if he tried any tricks. After the guards had entered he followed them. Two soldiers were opening his cupboards and drawers and one was in the bedroom, the sergeant sitting before fire. Belhast strode to his side and said calmly:

"I hope you realize that you have no legal reason whatsoever to search my house."

The sergeant laughed a bit.

"Oh, but we are only visiting an old friend, aren't we? If you want to make a complaint, we can always make this official, and less pleasant." Belhast bit his lips.

"There's no need to do that, sarge."

The sergeant stared to the fire for a moment before asking:

"So, where have you been this night? The hour is very late." Belhast invented a lie in less than a second.

"Oh, I was seeing a customer. An old lady, she was so sick that she couldn't come here. Look, here is the money she paid me," said he, drawing the twelve coppers the serving-maid had gave him from his pocket. The sergeant glanced at the coins and shrugged.

"If you say so. I don't expect to find anything interesting here, I know well that you are too clever for that. I came to give you a message to Finrosc. Tell him that we will catch him, sooner or later, and then he will hang high! Say it to him in exactly these words, do you hear? I know you will see him soon. I warn you too, you will hang also if you help him in any way."

Belhast was not very impressed by this bullying, being too much used to it. He only nodded. The sergeant would have continued to speak, but then stifled laughter of his men caught his attention. He rose from the chair and asked gruffly:

"What's so damned funny?"

One of the men held Belhast's starry cloak aloft and answered, snickering:

"This, sergeant. Isn't it pretty?"

The sergeant looked at the garment, biting his whiskers to stop his smile.

"Put it back." Then he turned to Belhast, who blushed instantly.

"Your taste of clothes seem to have gone worse over years."

Belhast said irritably:

"You have your uniforms and I have mine. You are not exactly royal-looking either. Have you finished? I want to sleep, since I have to work tomorrow."

The sergeant commanded his men to exit and went through the two rooms himself, closely followed by the impatient Belhast. In the bedroom he noticed that the latch of the window wasn't fastened. He asked:

"Why haven't you closed that? You should know better than most that it invites burglars."

Belhast shrugged:

"I must have forgotten it when I left. And what if someone broke into my house? I have little that is worth stealing."

"Well, that's your business. Just don't come to me to whine when you are robbed. So, I wish you a very good night."

The sergeant walked to the door, but just before he went out he turned and said sternly:

"Remember what I said, Belhast! You're in for gallows or prison if you try to shelter your brother!"

He strode proudly out and Belhast slammed the door shut after him, grunting:

"Yeah, damn good night to you also, asshole!"

Then he sat before the table, waiting for his brother to arrive. It was not long before the door of the bedroom opened and Finrosc entered. Belhast said:

"You were right, the guards came to visit."

"I know, I slipped through the window instantly when I heard them come in. That was a close thing. Well, I think they will leave you in peace for a few days at least. We must depart soon, however, tomorrow at nightfall if possible. Tomorrow you must work as usual, so as not to wake any suspicions. Hmm, it's Saturday then, I guess you don't work the whole day?"

Belhast answered:

"No, after noon, as it is a half-holiday. Many of the servants and all the workmen are released from work at midday and come to me before going home. I usually close at about seven. Tomorrow morning I will buy us some supplies and gear, so that we get comfortably to Pelargir."

Finrosc agreed to that and sat beside him, putting the information package on the table. Belhast asked:

"Are we going to open that?"

Finrosc nodded and broke the seal, spreading some papers and a large coin before him. He took one of them up and read aloud, commenting the text at intervals:

"Contents: Important business matters. (Why, this guy writes like this was a legal document!) The person or persons who have agreed to take care of some business matters for the undersigned are asked to present themselves at the house of the undersigned as soon as possible, at the last day of this year at the latest, after which the said matters shall be handled by other means than the said persons. (Yeah, yeah, let's get to the point!) Instructions are as follows: The persons mentioned shall travel to Pelargir by whatever means they think suitable. All costs will be covered when they have arrived at the house of the undersigned. (Hmm, that's nice.) The map to the destination is provided as an appendix to this letter, as well as a certain coin as a sign with which the persons will be able to enter. The said persons must arrive at sunset or after it and ring the bell at the gate precisely twice. When someone appears to the gate, the said persons shall give him or her the coin, saying: "I guess this belongs to you." The answer will be: "Yes, I lost it last January." Only after this will the persons be admitted to the house. They must wait in whatever place they are led to, until the undersigned himself arrives and discusses the above mentioned matters with them in person. The terms of contract and the reward will be disclosed only then. Even if the said persons decide not to accept the offer, they will be paid the sum of their costs, with a small addition as a compensation for their time. In that case the said persons are under the obligation of not to speak of this matter to any outsider, or they will face severe consequences. (I guess they will be not pleasant.) Likewise, the said persons shall not speak a word of this letter to anyone nor show it to anyone. The persons are instructed to destroy this letter after memorizing its contents. The same applies to the map. Signature: F."

He handed the letter to Belhast, saying:

"Well, it's quite precise. If Crow is correct, this guy may be a nutcase, but a careful one and has good handwriting, too. He must be rich, also, if he can afford paper. It's not an everyday thing you get to use it, you know."

Then he took up the map and studied it carefully. It was a quite good sketch of the city of Pelargir and its outskirts. A large building and walled garden west of the bridge of River Sirith, which flowed through the city, was marked with a red circle. After a while he took the letter back from Belhast and gave him the map. They studied them several times, and only after they were sure to know them by heart did they toss them to the fireplace. They watched as the flames consumed the papers. After they were only a pile of ash Belhast took the coin in his hand and studied it. It was quite curious, having a picture of a large animal on one side. The animal seemed to have two tails and carry a tower on its back. There were some strange signs around the rim of the coin that were unintelligible. On the other side of coin a bearded man was depicted. Finrosc peered over Belhast's elbow and exclaimed:

"What in earth is that animal? And those markings are like shit of flies!"

Belhast scratched his head, answering:

"I have heard tales of these beasts, mûmak they are called or something like that. They are huge and have long noses, with which they can grab things and even rip trees from their roots. I don't know if they are real, but this coin is from Harad for sure. That fly-shit thing is obviously writing."

Finrosc yawned.

"Be that as it may, but I'm tired. Let's have some hours' sleep while we still can."

Belhast agreed and they extinguished the candles in the sitting room and went to the bedchamber. Belhast put on his night-gown as usual, but Finrosc curled in the corner, fully dressed, mumbling:

"Good night, brother."

"Good night."

Belhast settled on his bed, blowing the last candle out. After a few moments only quiet snoring was heard.


	4. Chapter 4: The Road to Pelargir

Disclaimer: See chapter 1.

Chapter 4: The Road to Pelargir

Morning came and Belhast rose wearily, yawning widely. He stepped on the floor, taking a glimpse of Finrosc. The latter was still soundly asleep and Belhast didn't bother to wake him. He dressed and went to the main room. There he kindled fire and made breakfast. After half an hour he sat before a huge bowl of porridge and a mug of tea, starting to eat with gusto.

He had just pushed the bowl away from him and started to drink his tea when Finrosc entered. After the usual good-mornings Finrosc prepared food for himself and sat opposite Belhast. He ate in silence, but after he had finished and let out a loud burp he said:

"Well, it's time for you to go shopping. How much money do you have?" Belhast rose and checked the little moneybox hidden under a loose floor plank.

"Seems the coppers amount to about five silver. How about you, do you have anything?"

Finrosc grimaced.

"Only some coins. I naturally took a little from the bank spoil, but I squandered it all quite quickly."

Belhast shrugged.

"No matter. With these we could buy even a mule, if we needed it."

He took some money from the box and took his cloak and cap on.

"Well, I'm off. Make some food by noon, I should be back by then."

------

Belhast returned half an hour before noon, carrying two backpacks and walking staves, along sundry other things. He panted a little when he lowered the heavy load on the floor of his house. Finrosc, who was busy preparing fish soup, wondered:

"How much stuff did you buy? We are presently going only to Pelargir, not to the ends of earth." Belhast puffed:

"Better to be sure that everything we need is with us than miss something later. I had to also buy some winter clothes, mine are very worn."

Finrosc helped him to open the bundles and pack the things for travel. Belhast indeed had been very thorough, he had even bought new sturdy boots for them both and hard biscuits as travelling food. Finrosc expressed his satisfaction and they ate the noonmeal chattering pleasantly. After the table had been cleared and the utensils washed, Finrosc retired to the bedroom, since Belhast could expect customers at any moment.

------

Belhast donned his "magic cloak" and sat down to wait. It was not long after noon when the first customer entered, a sturdy workman. In a quarter an hour Belhast had predicted him a raise in his wages and received his payment. Others followed, mostly serving-maids, bartenders and poor craftsmen. All received good omens or words of caution as their situations required and departed contented. Belhast was not in his best mood, however, since after the door had closed behind some customers he could clearly hear sounds like stifled laughter behind the closed bedroom door. Finrosc was clearly eavesdropping and having fun at his expense.

At five o'clock Belhast ate hastily some bread and butter, taking some to Finrosc also. The latter gobbled his portion sitting on the bed. After the last crumb had disappeared Finrosc slapped his thighs, laughing aloud.

"This is the most amusing afternoon I've had for a long time. You are so damn convincing!" He mimicked Belhast's voice:

"'I see success before you, but only if you firmly grasp the opportunity. Take care, lest it goes by unnoticed.' Or: 'The Wheel of Fortune shows both trouble and joy in store for you. With skill and courage you will steer to your goal amidst the sea of obstacles.' That's just splendid! Where did you learn to speak like that?"

Belhast grimaced.

"You had best to say nothing! The rhymes of you bards are even worse nonsense. And say what you will, most of the things I said will come true. I am not only a cheat."

Finrosc laughed once more but did not answer. Belhast rolled his eyes and returned to the other room. He was just in time, for a new client was just wearing his or her knuckles against the door. Exasperated, Belhast shouted:

"Just a moment, for Valar's sake! No need to break the door!"

He let in a young couple and directed them to sit. These customers wanted to know if they would have many children as they wished. Belhast dealt the cards and saw that the couple had to prepare for a disappointment. The cards showed grief and bereavements, Death being in a prominent position. There was no way around the fact that it probably meant early death for the children the clients would have. Belhast hated situations like this, since it was painful to him to predict evil things to people who came to him full of hopeful plans for future. He bit his lips, thinking what to say. Finally he told the meaning of the cards with careful and sympathetic words, adding:

"The Fate may sometimes be cruel, but do not despair! Sometimes part of the future is veiled to all others save the Valar. After grief happiness may still come." It was of little help, however, since the woman broke in tears so that the man had to embrace her for a long time before she calmed down. Belhast directed his gaze down, feeling himself somewhat dejected. The couple left, leaving the fee on the table. Belhast took the coins gingerly in his palm and clinked them thoughtfully for a moment before putting them to his pocket. He had still one thing to learn of his profession, and that was not to get too depressed over the misfortunes he sometimes had to tell to others. After all, it was not his fault that bad things happened.

Belhast's next customer, however, made his mood lighten again. He was a minor merchant who came every fourth Saturday to hear his fate over the next month. Usually the predictions were quite boring, showing only hard work and domestic happiness. This time was different, however: The Sun with cards of money and a letter showed a resounding success and fortune. Hearing this, the merchant beamed:

"Ah, so the offer I made last month has been accepted! This is indeed good news! It was good of you to show me the right moment to do it the last time I was here."

He shook heartily hands with Belhast and departed, having paid double the usual fee. The fortune-teller glanced at his water-clock and saw that it was well over six. Already it was dark outside. He took off his cloak and packed it in his backpack, along with the cards. Perhaps they would be of use on the journey. Finrosc emerged from the inner room, already wearing the travel clothes Belhast had bought. He asked:

"So, are you ready to depart?" Belhast wondered:

"Don't we eat before that? And isn't it a bit early?"

"We can eat when we are out of the city. Besides, this is the best moment to leave. The guards on the streets are not so many as they will be closer to midnight."

Belhast agreed, having no better arguments. He cast his cloak over his shoulders and tightened the straps of his backpack, asking of Finrosc:

"Are we leaving by the postern gate? I guess it's still unguarded." Finrosc nodded.

"Yes, it is."

The gate they were referring was a little postern gate in the walls of the first level of Minas Anor. It was covered by vines and obviously forgotten by the authorities. Still, it was known to all criminals in the town, who used it much when going through the main gate was out of the question.

------

It took two hours of them to get to the little gate, since it was situated at the outmost brink of the walls, near the place where the side of mount Mindolluin began to rise. They had easily evaded the few patrols they had seen on the way, and the people who moved on the streets were mostly already drunk, heading for taverns or otherwise minding their own business. At length they stood before the gate, bending the vines so that they could open it. The lock was open and the hinges well greased, so that they didn't make any noise when they opened. Finrosc said in approving tone:

"Work of the Boss or Crow. They think of everything."

There was a short corridor leading through the thick walls. At the end of it there seemed to be no door but only a stone wall. Knowing better than that, however, Finrosc pushed sharply a certain stone. It gave way and a portion of the wall turned on well-hidden hinges, letting the men walk through. They shut the gate behind them, hearing only a small click. Belhast grinned, whispering:

"Clever boys, those Númenorean masons, eh?" Finrosc answered:

"Yeah, whatever. I care more of that we finally are out of the harm's way."

He raised his head and drew a deep breath, clearly enjoying the cool night-air. Then the brothers wrapped their cloaks closer around them and started to walk. They kept close to the mountain-side for a while to avoid being detected by soldiers guarding the walls. After a few miles, however, they felt safe enough to head east, towards the road leading to Pelargir. There was no hindrance to their travel now, the great wall of Rammas Echor being not even thought of until nearly two thousand years later.

They reached the road at nearly midnight. After a little conversation they decided to walk for an hour more and then find a sheltered place where to spend the rest of the night. They bypassed two sleeping hamlets in that time. The eastern Lossarnach was looking very peaceful in the light of the pale moon, the bare trees throwing curious shadows before them and the snow on the mountain tops glittering faintly. Smoke rose lazily from chimneys of the farms and cottages, but almost all lights had been long extinguished inside them, their dwellers enjoying a well-earned rest after their toils. There was not the slightest hint of wind so the night was warm for the late season. Belhast looked around him, lost in his thoughts. He felt quite comfortable at that moment, although the future was uncertain. At least now nothing threatened him or Finrosc. Their packs were relatively light so it was easy to walk.

Belhast's mind reached back to the days of his and Finrosc's childhood. They had lived in Lossarnach then, only tens of miles away, in a large village over which the White Mountains loomed. The life had been hard sometimes and full of work, but satisfying, in all. Those days seemed like a dream now. There was little in common in the boy he had been and the man he now was. But there was no helping of it. He had to make best of the things he had learned and the bitter experiences. He seldom had wanted to remember his past, but now he plunged in memories, seeing sunny summer days and comfortable winter evenings beside warm stove. Finrosc seemed to think along similar lines, for he quietly launched into a song:

Oh you hamlets and houses

of my homeland fair,

in my earliest memories

I hold you so dear.

Wherever I go, still

when I remember thee

tears will my eyes fill.

Sacred are you to me.

The song was very old and popular in Lossarnach and well known to all that dwelt there. Belhast joined the song, his untrained baritone mingling with the mellow tenor of Finrosc:

The sunny days long ago

in your woods and meadows

I hold in me 'til away I must go

from this world of sorrows.

After they had finished, Belhast spoke:

"It is strange to think that I have lived for years only fifty miles from our home village but never visited it after we left. It's a shame that it's not along our way, otherwise I would have liked to take a look at the old places." Finrosc blew his nose.

"Well, maybe some other time. I think we are not very popular over there, not even after these years."

Belhast nodded and they went on in silence, looking for a promising campsite. It was not long before they spotted a barn beside the road. Looking inside, they found that it was full of dry hay. Finrosc rubbed his hand in satisfaction.

"Splendid! They are tickly but soft. And I daresay we have no need of fire this night. It should be warm enough inside that pile."

They indeed felt very warm when they delved into the hay, like mice making a nest. When they were wrapped in their cloaks the straws did not even tickle them badly. With contented sighs they relaxed and closed their eyes.

------

They were rudely awakened at dawn, when an angry voice yelled from door:

"Who the hell are you? Get out from my barn this minute, if you want avoid getting badly hurt!"

The two travellers jumped up and saw a furious farmer standing at the doorway. Quickly they clambered down and Belhast apologized:

"We are very sorry, but we saw no harm in sleeping here, being weary and cold. If we have damaged something, we'll try to pay for it."

The farmer responded hotly:

"As if tramps like you had any money! Be off, and quickly, that's enough for me!"

"All right, all right, just don't burst," Finrosc muttered.

Fortunately the farmer didn't hear this, and the brothers could continue their journey, the farmer still cursing after them. After a bad start the journey got more pleasant, however. The sky was cloudy but it didn't rain, and the miles went by fast. At noon, however, they had to stop at the crossings of Erui, where the road went through a ford. A post-cart had stuck in the middle of the stream, and the coachman whipped his two horses in vain, cursing obscenely. The brothers waded in the water and Belhast cried to the coachman:

"Hullo, do you need help?" The answer was an exasperated grunt:

"What's this looking like, huh? This damn cart hasn't moved an inch since morning."

Then the coachman changed his manner and said quite civilly:

"I'm sorry to be such an asshole, I'm just so damn tired of this. Would you help me? I can give you a ride, if you are going south."

The brothers agreed and waded to the rear end of the cart. They saw that it was buried to the axles in the mud in bottom of the river. They held a brief conference as what to do, but then Belhast had an idea:

"Let's cut some branches and put them before and under the wheels, it should help." Then he turned to the coachman who had also jumped to water:

"Hey, do you have a spade and an axe with you?" The coachman answered in affirmative and fetched the tools. Finrosc rose from the river and cut many thick branches and collected dead wood which he carried to the cart. Meanwhile the two others had dug deep holes in the mud before the wheels.

They put the branches and some stones in the holes and the coachman climbed to his seat. He cried to the horses, making his whip crack in the air. The tired horses pulled and the cart slowly began to move. The brothers pushed from behind, and slowly but surely the cart rose from the mud. Suddenly it broke loose and jerked forwards. Belhast and Finrosc lost their hold of the cart and almost fell on their faces. After a moment of swaying, however, they regained their foothold and waded to the riverbank, all wet and cold to the bones.

When they reached the coachman, the latter was already lighting a fire beside the road. He called to them:

"Well, time to dry your clothes! It's no good to catch a cold."

They spent the next hour shivering in the cold air and holding their garments over the fire. The weather was nothing in comparison to the bitter winters of Eriador, but it was enough to make them feel miserable and sneeze, being clad only in wet undergarments. When they finally could dress again all three climbed to the coachman's seat. It was very wide so they were quite comfortable. After the coachman had made the horses move, Belhast asked:

"So, what's your name and where are you going?"

"Celegion. I'm heading for Pelargir. But who are you, then?"

Belhast and Finrosc introduced themselves with false names and the latter said:

"To Pelargir, eh? That's just the place we are going to. I guess we can come the whole way with you." Celegion grinned.

"This is an official post cargo and passengers are forbidden. Officially, that is. All drivers take some if they can, it gives one a bit more money and the journey isn't so dull when one has somebody to talk with. Usually I'd ask you pay a few coppers, but let it be now. I'll drop you at the outskirts of Pelargir, when we reach that. It should be tomorrow afternoon, since I'm a few hours late."

------

They went on with a steady pace all the rest of the day. Belhast thanked their luck in his thoughts, since now they were going much faster than by foot. Celegion was quite pleasant company, being talkative and apt to laugh. Finrosc and Belhast lied to him that they planned to seek move to Pelargir, since the work opportunities in Minas Anor were so poor. To that the coachman sagely said, with a knowing nod:

"There's always that. Those damn scribes, councillors and whoever up there! Always demanding more taxes, sucking the poor folk dry. And what do we get for that? Nothing at all, I say! They can't even pave a bottom of a ford or build a bridge. The King should take the reins firmer in his own hands, but he's too busy drooling over those wild Northmen, it seems. Nothing good will come of it, mark my words!" He spat to the ground as if emphasising his words and the brothers nodded in agreement.

------

They rested in a small tavern and continued their journey early the next day. The horses had been changed and the speed was now even greater than the day before. The open country glided past them, grey and brown. The sight was quite dull, since they had long left the wooded foothills of the mountains behind them. But that bothered Belhast and Finrosc very little, since as the journey neared its end they were more and more excited.

At afternoon they finally saw Anduin flowing before them, and the road made a wide curve to west, towards Pelargir. The air was now moister than before and gulls flew over them, crying with loud voices. It was nearly sunset when they reached the walls of the city and Celegion stopped the cart.

"Well, this is where I leave you. No offense, but I don't want any trouble." Belhast and Finrosc jumped down and thanked him for the ride. Celegion waved his hand and drove through the gate, leaving the foster-brothers standing on the road. Belhast took his pack on his shoulders and said:

"Well, we are just in time, it seems. Let's get going."

------

It took an hour and a half for them to walk through Pelargir and get to the suburb where rich people lived, on the west side of Sirith. Finrosc, who remembered the map better, took the lead. After a little searching they finally stood before the gate of a large mansion. They looked through the bars and saw that the main building was three storeys high and had surely been splendid when new. It still retained much of its former glory and was in good repair, even though the paint on the walls had faded a little. A wide garden surrounded the house, but it was badly kept and in some places overgrown by grass and bushes. Altogether the whole place was dreary and depressing. Belhast muttered:

"Looks inviting, doesn't it?"

Finrosc didn't answer but took a step towards the gate, grabbing a rope from which a brass bell hung. He pulled the rope twice and the bell clanked loud. They waited for a while, before a bored-looking manservant came to the gate. He looked at the brothers, saying nothing. For a moment both were at loss, but then Belhast remembered the instructions and took the Haradian coin from his pocket and handed it to the servant, saying politely:

"I guess this belongs to you."

The servant looked closely at the coin and answered:

"Yes, I lost it last January."

Then he took a key and opened the gate, signing the duo to enter. Once they were in the servant locked the gate again and strode towards the house, waving to them that they should follow. The lane leading to the massive oaken door was perhaps thirty yards long and as badly kept as everything else in the house. Dry leaves rustled in Belhast and Finrosc's feet when they walked behind the silent servant.

They entered into a large hall, lit only by a single candle. In the twilight they saw strangely shaped swords and shields hanging from the walls, alongside normal Gondorian armour and weaponry. Two tapestries dominated the wall, depicting strange, horrid monsters and strangely-clad warriors. Finrosc was very uneasy and asked the servant:

"What are these things? Uh, I mean, where are they from? I've never seen anything like them."

The servant gave him a bored look, answering:

"It is not my business to answer questions. If you will, you may ask my master when you meet him." Then he opened a door at the far end of the hall and said:

"Please enter the sitting-room and make yourselves comfortable. My master will meet you there shortly. There is wine on the table if it pleases you to refresh yourselves."

Belhast and Finrosc strode in and the door was shut noiselessly behind them. The sitting-room was lit by only two candles and was not much lighter than the hall, although smaller. Finrosc sat down in a soft chair, pouring some wine for himself. Belhast, for his part, studied the room. There was a bookshelf full of strange leather-bound volumes. Belhast looked at one but could not make anything of the contents, the book being written in a foreign, harsh language. He put the book back and looked around. One tapestry hung from one wall, depicting a battle scene between a man-shaped, yet repulsive creature and a valiant knight clad in mail. He turned away from it and admired two delicate, curved daggers that laid on a small table. After a while, however, he looked to his right, inside a cupboard, the door of which was ajar. Suddenly he gave a cry of horror and recoiled. A hideous, grey-skinned and red-eyed face was staring at him from the cupboard! Hearing the cry, Finrosc jumped up and looked to the cupboard. Seeing the staring face he also exclaimed and staggered.

At this point a door was swung open, and out of the dark corridor behind it came a soft chuckle. Then a voice spoke:

"Ah, I see you are impressed by my little collection."


	5. Chapter 5: The King Of Pentacles

Disclaimer: See chapter 1.

Chapter 5: The King of Pentacles

Hearing the voice Belhast and Finrosc turned around, their hearts still beating furiously from the shock they had had. A dark-haired man entered the room, shutting the door quietly behind him. The man's features were typical to the high-born Dúnedain: A straight, somewhat massive nose, long, pale face and sea-grey eyes. The man was tall, but a little bent and clad in a long, black robe which had only a little tasteful silver embroidery around the collar and wrists. Even in the dim light of the room, Belhast couldn't help noticing that the skin of the Dúnadan had a sickly, faintly bluish hue. His hair had only slight hints of grey, however. The man seemed to be in his fifties, so he could have been anything from seventy to hundred years old. It was hard to tell with these Dúnedain. The man smiled and said:

"Welcome to my house. My servant told me that you had the proper sign with you. Please, take seats and then we will discuss why I summoned you here."

The thieves sat down but the man remained standing. Belhast shifted in his chair, since there was something in the smile and the gaze of the other that made him uneasy. It was only now he took a proper look at the eyes of the man. They were unnerving, because although the expressions on the man's face varied, the keen eyes remained hard and emotionless. In them there was a gleam which told that the man was perhaps at least a little mad. Belhast was interrupted in his thoughts when the man spoke again:

"My name is Falasmir and if I my information is correct you are named Finrosc and Belhast. Is that so?"

The brothers answered in affirmative, wondering how Falasmir could know their names. The latter saw their confusion and smiled dryly.

"I have competent men at my disposal who keep me informed of everything I want to know. Now, let us go to the business." He waved his hand around proudly, as if displaying the room in an exhibition.

"I am a collector, as you can see. I am always searching for new curiosities. Now, look at these, for instance!" he exclaimed, taking the daggers Belhast had admired in his hand.

"You were not even born when the Easterlings attacked Gondor last time, almost fifty years ago. But I was there, in the battle near the Sea of Rhûn, where our valiant King triumphed over the Wild Men. Two of their princes, twin brothers, bore these daggers in the battle. They had been made specially for them from iron that was took from a fallen star. After the fighting was over, I saw the brothers laying dead, these blades still in their rigid hands. I took fancy at the beautiful weapons and took them for my own. That, if you will, was the start of my collection."

The brothers nodded, Belhast silently wondering when Falasmir would come to the point. He felt, however, that it would be best to let the Dúnadan go at his own pace. Therefore, he made a polite comment:

"Your collection is very interesting, certainly, and we would be obliged to you if you would tell us more about it. Especially I would like to hear what is that hideous thing you have in the cupboard, over there."

Falasmir seemed to be pleased by this show of interest and took the horrid head in his hands, turning it playfully in his fingers. He uttered an unnerving chuckle.

"Ah, you mean my little friend, do you? Now this is a real rarity, I tell you! Some ten years ago I sent five men to Misty Mountains, in order to get me a corpse of a genuine Orc. It took three years and the lives of two men to accomplish that, but they succeeded. They brought me the corpse just as I had wanted, whole and preserved after the manner the Númenoreans did to their dead. I examined the body, to find out if Orcs really are made of Elves, as some say. You would be surprised how much the inner organs of Orcs resemble those of Men! As Elves are said to be almost similar to Men when it comes to their bodies, my discoveries were quite intriguing. There must be some link or even kinship between Elves and Orcs, or between them and Men."

Belhast swallowed, regretting that he had asked. He had not ever seen an Orc, but judging from the face he saw, their bodies must be very revolting, too. The mental image of Falasmir cutting one open made him a bit nauseated. He looked at Finrosc and saw the latter grimacing. Falasmir, however, even if he noticed the discomfort of the others did not care but went on:

"I store other interesting things in here, if you want to see them." He put the Orc head on a table and took a mummified, brown hand out of the cupboard. He held it in front of the brothers, saying:

"Look closely at it. Does it look like it once belonged to an assassin?"

Belhast looked at the hand in disgust, shaking his head. The hand was clearly a woman's, with long, slender fingers. In one of the fingers there was a golden ring, with strange runes on it. Falasmir spoke again:

"It looks quite weak, doesn't it? Yet this was the very hand that held the dagger that killed the Southron lord Ben-Rashid thirty years ago. It belonged to a beautiful woman. She was a sorceress and mistress to Ben-Rashid. The latter wearied of her and she secretly vowed revenge. Ben-Rashid had an amulet that protected him from evil spells and had a slave tasting all his foods before him, so poison was of no help. So the fair sorceress had to cut his throat in his sleep." Falasmir gave the foster-brothers a weird smile.

"There is no fury like that of a woman scorned, it is rightly said."

Finrosc seemed to be wearied of this display of grim items and said:

"This is very interesting, but shouldn't we speak of the business matters you mentioned in your letter, lord Falasmir?"

Falasmir looked at him.

"Patience, my friend. This all had been part of the matter I will disclose shortly. I wanted to demonstrate that I am not interested in trifles, but want to acquire things of great historical or other interest. That should give you an idea of the seriousness of the quest I ask you to undertake."

Finrosc leaned forward.

"What this 'quest' is about is precisely the thing we want to hear. I have understood that you want us to bring you something valuable."

Falasmir sat slowly down in a chair opposite the brothers.

"Yes, you are right. Lately I have mainly been interested in Easterling artefacts, but they are hard to acquire in Gondor. I want you to travel to East-lands and bring me the Heart of Rhûn."

Belhast was confused.

"How can we accomplish that, not knowing the language and ways the Easterlings? That is, if we agree to undertake this quest, a point that is not at all sure."

Falasmir seemed to be mildly amused. He crossed his hands on his chest and leaned back in his soft chair, saying:

"Oh, I daresay you will agree. What would you say to a thousand gold pieces?"

Belhast's eyes widened in surprise. A thousand gold coins was a staggering sum, even if divided in two. With that he could live comfortably the rest of his life. All other considerations seemed to vanish from his mind as he pondered on the enormous reward. He looked at Finrosc whose jaw had dropped open. Finrosc clenched hard the armrest of his chair and stared in disbelief at Falasmir, who calmly studied the severed hand. After a moment of stunned silence Finrosc managed to stammer:

"Well, that is very generous. Five hundred to each of us…"

Falasmir made a sign that silenced Finrosc and answered:

"I am afraid I was not exact enough. When I said a thousand, I meant that it will be the payment that each of you will receive, if you carry your mission out successfully."

Belhast was even more staggered at hearing this. He rubbed his eyes to ascertain that he was not dreaming. The whole thing was so unbelievable that he was sure that he would wake up soon in his own bed. But when he raised his gaze again Falasmir was still sitting before him, steadily observing him and Finrosc. When he had collected his wits again, Belhast voiced his concern again:

"I think I speak for us both when I say we will agree to your offer, lord. There remains only one doubt, however: We cannot speak anything but the common tongue and a little elvish. I think we will not manage in Rhûn."

Finrosc broke in:

"Secondly, we need maps and clearer details. What is this Heart you are speaking of, lord Falasmir?"

The Dúnadan crossed his arms behind his head, stretching leisurely.

"What the Heart exactly is, I know not. It is for you to find out. The only thing I know from my sources is that it is a very important part of the worship of one of the gods of those barbarians. Most likely it is a jewel or a little statue, since it is said to be carried before the people in their religious processions. Be that as may, without it my collection would surely be quite worthless, only a whim of a fool. As for the maps and the Easterling tongue, I will give you a packet in which you will find a scroll translating many words and phrases and instructing you on the basic structures. There will also be maps and notes of the ways of the Easterlings so that you will not get in unnecessary trouble. Unfortunately you will have to do with only a crude sketch of the lands east of the inland sea, but that cannot be helped. The place where you will find the Heart is named Svjatigorod, The Holy City in our tongue. You will see the approximate whereabouts of the city in the sketch, and surely you will be able hire local guides, if need be."

Falasmir stood up and opened a locked drawer in a worktable situated at one corner of the room. He took out a silk bundle and handed it to Finrosc.

"Take a good look at it later. I deem that our contract is now made and you will depart as soon as possible. Is that so?"

The brothers again assured Falasmir that they whole-heartedly agreed. After they had received the information they needed and the language problem had been at least partly solved they felt very confident. Only the thought of the inevitably large costs of the long journey troubled Belhast's mind and he was sure Finrosc had given consideration to that point, too. But before they could say anything Falasmir drew a large purse from his bosom, as if he had only now remembered it. He said:

"Here is some money for you. I don't think you can afford the journey on your own and it would not be proper either, I being the one sending you on it. Half of the money in this purse is silver and the other half is gold, so you must find a way to exchange it if the need arises. This sum, of course, is not deduced from your final payment. Time is not of any great consideration but do not tarry over long, for this is the only money you receive from me before you return with the Heart."

Belhast took the offered purse and thanked Falasmir, seconded by Finrosc whose face beamed. The brothers got serious again, however, when Falasmir stood up and said in a perfectly polite voice:

"So that is sealed, then. I have one last word to you, though. If you want to hire help, that is your business and I will not pay for it. But if you so much as breathe my name in connection of this quest or speak of it to anyone whose business it is not, you will die."

Then he let out a giggle that would have been ridiculous for a man like Falasmir in other circumstances. Belhast was not amused, however, seeing again the strange gleam in Falasmir's cold eyes. The latter continued, again in a tone of a friendly conversation:

"If you succeed in stealing the Heart and try to keep it for yourselves, you will die. My men will hunt you down, go where you will. I will have your heads as surely as the sun rises from east."

He turned his back to Belhast and Finrosc, who had paled somewhat. Belhast felt a chill running up his spine. Falasmir opened the door from which he had come and said:

"Now everything is clear, there is no reason for you to remain here. Call the servant, he will lead you out."

Falasmir vanished in the dark corridor, only his soft footsteps being heard for a few moments. Belhast let out a sigh of relief, saying to Finrosc:

"He really is a nutcase! I think we had better to follow his instructions to the letter. I don't doubt that he would have us killed as easily as he would crush a fly. I only hope that he really will pay us when we return."

Finrosc put his cap on, answering:

"He will, I think. Just look around you, if he weren't rich he couldn't afford all this. I agree with you, though. If we mess this up, we are dead meat." He shrugged nervously and said, trying in vain to sound light-hearted:

"Well, just one reason more to be careful."

Belhast did not answer but looked around the room once more. The Orc-head seemed to grin evilly at him, and the severed hand laying on the table did not cheer him up either. He took his pack up and said:

"Let's call the servant. The sooner we are on our way, the better."


	6. Chapter 6: Ill Start For A Journey

Disclaimer: See chapter 1.

Chapter 6: Ill Start For A Journey

The brothers were soon again outside the gate, the servant leading them out having been as silent and tired-looking as before. The gate clanged shut behind them and they were left alone in the night. Cold wind had risen, driving dry and brown leaves before it and waving the cloaks of the two men. Belhast gathered his cloak closer around him and shivered.

"It sure isn't a pleasant weather! Let's find an inn to have something warm to eat," he said.

Finrosc nodded.

"Yes, that's the best option. We must spend a day or two with making our plans, so a comfortable place to stay would be welcome."

That being settled they turned their backs to the dreary mansion and began to walk towards the eastern part of the city. That, fortunately, didn't take as much time as finding the mansion of Falasmir. They found a small, cosy inn just after the bridge over Siril. They took a room for two days, paying for it and their meals in advance.

------

After a hearty meal consisting of bread, pork stew and vegetables they sighed in contentment and ascended a flight of steps to their room. It was small, but adequately furnished with two beds, a table and two benches. A washstand with a wooden basin completed the equipment of the room. Seeing the stand Belhast immediately rang a brass bell. After a while a yawning servant entered, asking:

"What may be your pleasure, good Masters?"

Belhast pointed to the basin:

"I'd be grateful if you would fetch us some water. We have journeyed long and would like to wash."

The servant nodded and disappeared, returning after a few minutes with two buckets, the other full of warm and the other cold water. After the servant had retired, the brothers started to strip their shirts to wash themselves.

After they were clean again, they felt refreshed and ready to take a look to their instructions despite of the late hour. Belhast opened the silk bundle, spreading its contents on the table. It contained all Falasmir had said it would; there were many papers and two little books, written in a small, precise handwriting. The first things to be examined were naturally the maps. There were five of them, one showing the whole of Middle-Earth known to Gondorian mapmakers and stopping only a few leagues east of the Inland Sea. Finrosc grumbled:

"Not much of help, that one."

The other maps depicted the areas north of Gondor and east of the Misty Mountains in more detail, extending as far north as the southern foothills of Ered Mithrin. The last one was a sketch of lands beyond the Inland Sea. The details in the sketch were scant and an unknown mapmaker had written in the margin:

"All distances are only relative and not absolute."

Belhast wiped his brow in frustration.

"Why, this doesn't even show our goal! Look, in the eastern end of the map it only reads 'to Svjatigorod' with an arrow. I have a bad feeling of this."

Finrosc shrugged.

"I don't think we can quit anymore. That madman would have our heads, so let's just make the best of it." He took the map from Belhast's hands and studied it closely.

"Well, it really is crude, but still of some help, I think. There are a few roads marked on it, so it shouldn't be too hard to find the 'Holy City'."

Belhast answered:

"Yes, but most of them run from north to south, so we still have to prepare for long hikes in the woods. The local guides Falasmir mentioned seem to be indispensable."

Finrosc stretched his arms, yawning widely.

"Well, we can think about it when the time comes. Until then it is useless to worry. Let us sleep."

Belhast agreed and they extinguished the lamp hanging from the ceiling and settled on their soft beds, falling fast asleep. Belhast dreamed of the King of Pentacles of his deck, holding a purse of gold in one hand and the card Fool in the other.

------

After an abundant breakfast Belhast and Finrosc made their plans as how to proceed in their quest. It was agreed that first they should go through Osgiliath into Ithilien and from there travel to Dagorlad. When there, they would follow the old road running eastward past Morannon. When it came to its end, they would head for northeast where their goal lay. Belhast especially was content with this:

"Now we don't have to go anywhere near the Greenwood. We are no foresters and I'll bet we will get enough walking in the woods in Rhûn. Besides, it's rumoured that there is an evil sorcerer in the Greenwood and that it is darkening."

The next thing to do was hide the gold they had received from Falasmir. After a little pondering it was decided that the seven gold pieces and some of the silver Falasmir's purse contained would be sewn inside Belhast's starry cloak. The garment had a relatively thick lining and when the coins had been secured with threads so that they didn't clink, it was impossible to see and hard to even feel them. The notebooks were put in a secret pocket in the bottom of Finrosc's pack. That being settled, the brothers slept again, having decided to start their journey at evening.

When they awoke, the sun was already low and it was nearly dinnertime. A servant brought their food to them and they set their teeth on it with relish, having had little enough food on their journey from Minas Anor. When they had finished, Finrosc pushed his plate from him and asked:

"So, Belhast, how are we going to get out of the city?"

Belhast raised his head, puzzled.

"Why, through the gates, obviously."

Finrosc shifted uneasily.

"I would prefer anything else. It would be best to get out unseen, seeing my situation."

Belhast waved his hand dismissively and humphed.

"Bah, do you really think you are in danger? Remember, here we are only two unemployed commoners from Minas Anor, nothing more. Besides, they let us in nicely, didn't they?"

Finrosc was not convinced:

"You may take things lightly, it is not your neck that is in risk. Mine itches in a worrying way. The city guards of Pelargir may have had the word that I have disappeared from Minas Anor."

Belhast shrugged and swallowed the last bit of his beef before answering:

"Well, what would you suggest then? On the west side there are no walls or gates, but then we would be in the wrong side of the river. As for the seemingly only other option, attempting to climb the walls would surely attract more attention than going through the gate."

That was true, and Finrosc couldn't answer immediately. He tapped with his fingers on the table, thinking. After a moment he straightened in his chair, his face brightening.

"I got it! If we can't go through the gate, we'll go around it!"

Belhast raised an eyebrow, but before he could say anything, the other went on:

"We both can handle a boat, can't we? When it is dark, we will just go to the docks, steal one and row some miles east, landing in a location where we can either hide or sink the vessel. What do you think?"

Belhast pondered only for a moment, having to admit that the scheme was good. The current in Anduin was not very great this near of the sea, so they could row against it, especially if they would have the aid of a sail. As boys they often had boated on river Erui to fish or just for sport. Erui was nothing in size compared to the Great River, but its currents were faster. Breaking these thoughts, Belhast rose.

"I think you are right."

------

They left the inn at about eleven in the evening, having bought some ham and bread for their journey before that. Before their departure, Belhast had looked at his cards as usual. When they showed a journey by water, he only shrugged and collected them, a bit disappointed they had pointed out nothing but the obvious. Still, it was encouraging for Belhast, even if his brother only shook his head for his 'superstition'.

The inn was only a relatively short distance away from the harbour and they saw no city guards as they walked down quiet streets. The night was very dark and a heavy fog was rising from Anduin, hiding them effectively. They saw nobody until they were near the docks. But when they came nearer it, some groups of sailors began to pass them, either going to or returning from the taverns and alehouses of Pelargir. The sailors took no notice of the two wanderers, being more interested in wine and beer.

It was about half an hour before midnight when the brothers finally reached the harbour. They walked along the stone docks, searching for a suitable boat. Their search was interrupted shortly, however, by two men who staggered from the fog towards them, swaying like drunkards. The men seemed to be sailors judging from their dress and were tall and muscular. Belhast and Finrosc stopped and stood silently, waiting for the men to pass them.

But when the sailors drew nearer, they seemed to notice the two travellers and walked unsteadily towards them, as if they wanted to say something to them. Belhast and Finrosc weren't sure if they should get away or hear what the sailors wanted. Their unsteady pace was reassuring, however, so the foster-brothers remained where they stood, expecting to hear an inquiry after a good alehouse or some drunken rant.

The men came close and a smell of liquor invaded Belhast's nose. One of the sailors faced him and grasped his shoulder in a friendly fashion, stuttering:

"Hullo, good mastersshh, could you sshhpare a few coppers for two poor sshheamen?"

Belhast answered in the affirmative, anxious to get rid of the men and reached for his purse. But just then the grip of the sailor on his shoulder tightened and the man suddenly grasped Belhast's throat with his left hand, almost throttling the fortune-teller. A thought flashed through Belhast's mind:

"Robbers!"

He tried to struggle, reaching for his belt knife, but just then a heavy fist landed on his temple. A sudden pain pierced his skull, causing his head to turn violently on his left, where Finrosc was. He saw for an instant the latter receiving a blow from a club, but then a second punch hit him, and he fell into darkness.

------

Belhast's consciousness returned slowly and with it came a throbbing headache. He heard voices speaking but didn't heed them, trying to endure the pain that seemed to send flying sparks before his vision. He groaned and turned on his side, his eyes still shut. He opened them instantly, however, from the surprise of his hand meeting planks of wood instead of cold stone. At that moment somebody took him by his collar and hauled him in a sitting position. He swayed badly but managed to stay erect, looking wildly around him. It was still dark and he could see only dark man-shaped forms standing around him. When he looked to his right he saw Finrosc trying to get up but only managing to support his upper body by his elbows.

Belhast would have helped his brother, but just at that moment a flint was struck and the bright flame of a torch was kindled. He looked to the direction of the light and saw a tall, broad man with a wild, red beard looking at him with an inspecting eye. The man soon turned, however, and exclaimed roughly:

"Anmir and Faldir, you idiots! These are not sailors! I told you to fetch some seasoned seamen, not street beggars!" One of the men started to apologize with a timid voice, but the large man waved his hand irritably, silencing him. Then, again turning towards Belhast and Finrosc, he said with a sneer:

"So, my friends, welcome aboard the Sea-Eagle!"

------

Read and review, please.


	7. Chapter 7: Seaward Bound

Disclaimer: See chapter 1.

Chapter 7: Seaward Bound

Belhast staggered to his feet, holding his head between his hands as if it would burst at any moment. He looked to the man who had spoken, completely bewildered. He asked in a tremulous voice:

"Where are we? What is this?"

The bearded man answered:

"As I said you are aboard the Sea-Eagle. And as for why, you two are now part of its crew. We arrive shortly Ethir Anduin and the open sea, so collect yourselves."

Belhast was stunned. He ran to the railing of the ship and peered to the darkness. The fog had receded, so he could see afar, despite of the darkness. The man had been right, since he could hardly discern the shore of the river, it being only a black line in the horizon. Judging from the moist air, also, the ship was near the sea.

Belhast's first impulse was to throw himself to the water and try to reach to coast. But he immediately realized how desperate such a measure would be. He would probably drown, and even if not, he would be alone, wet, cold and without any money or gear in surroundings he knew not. Most probably he would freeze to death before he could reach a village. Besides, escape would mean forsaking Finrosc to the mercy of their captors. Therefore, he turned and exclaimed:

"You can't be serious!"

The man grinned a little, an expression that didn't really suit his stern countenance, making him look like a hungry bear.

"Oh yes, I am. Help your buddy up, since I have something to say to you."

Belhast did as he was told and raised Finrosc to his feet by his shoulders and supported him as his legs didn't work properly yet. The bearded man spoke:

"Now listen: You two were hired…"

At this point Belhast opened his mouth to protest, but was silenced by a menacing look from the speaker. The latter went on:

"You were hired, because I hadn't enough sailors, having had lost two at sea. My name is Maegaer and I am the captain of this ship. In whatever position I will place you, I expect my commands to be obeyed instantly and without any loitering or gainsaying. If you behave well, you will get your wages when we arrive at our destination and may go wherever you wish. If not, I'll have you flogged or break your heads myself. Is this understood?"

Belhast didn't anymore doubt that Maegaer was serious and nodded hastily, especially when he saw the brawn of the sailors around him. Finrosc, who leaned heavily on him, groaned and made a gesture of assent with his hand. The captain smiled briefly and said:

"Good. Now, we'll see if you worth anything. You, strawhair, can you handle sails?"

Belhast, who was the person addressed, answered:

"Well, yes, I boated much on Erui when I was a youngster."

Maegaer burst into contemptuous laughter, and the sailors grinned widely. The captain bellowed to his crew:

"You hear that, boys? He has boated much! Why, he must fancy he beats Eärendil himself!" He laughed once again and addressed Belhast whose face was now red to the roots of his hair:

"I asked if you can handle real sails, ones like these." He pointed to the midmost mast of the ship, which reached the height of at least twenty yards. When Belhast looked up and saw the large sails and the net of ropes by which they were managed, he had to admit that he couldn't do anything with them. He said as much. The captain answered:

"Well, how about your buddy? What, neither he? Can you navigate, then? Look after the cargo? Handle the rudder? Repair sails?"

The brothers could only smile meekly and shake their heads at this bombardment of questions. The captain snorted and gave a furious look to the kidnappers of Belhast and Finrosc. He clenched his fists and was about to curse them again, but changed his mind and asked abruptly:

"Can either of you cook?"

Belhast was relieved. He was not any gourmet cook but could make nourishing and tasty food. He said:

"Yes, tolerably."

Maegaer answered:

"Very well. Our cook drunk himself dead just after we departed from Umbar, and Jarl here who replaced him is a real poisoner."

Belhast looked at Jarl and saw a wide and stupid-looking man whose limbs seemed to be made for handling an axe or oar rather than a ladle or a spoon. Maeager interrupted this scrutiny by tapping Belhast's chest with his finger.

"You are now the cook. But if I see you lied and are no better than Jarl in the kitchen, you'll be the supper for the fishes."

Belhast swallowed hard, although he was almost sure that he wouldn't fail the test. The captain now turned his attention to Finrosc.

"Well, there's only one post left, and since you are worth almost nothing, you'll have it."

Finrosc, who had somewhat recovered, blinked and asked hoarsely:

"What is that, then?"

"The post of the mess boy. You will clean the rear portion of the deck and my cabin, wait on me when I eat and run errands. In addition, you generally do everything no one else wants to do. Is that clear?"

Finrosc nodded. Maegaer seemed to be pleased and said to a lanky lad:

"Congratulations, boy, you are now promoted to sailor."

The young man beamed with pleasure, but the captain turned again to the brothers:

"It is clear that you never have been on sea, but what are your names and what do you do for your living?"

Belhast strained his brains, knowing that revealing their real names would possibly be fatal in a ship full of Gondorians. It required only the time for changing of the tide to return to Pelargir and give Finrosc over to the city guards, and him too for a good measure. Suddenly Belhast knew what Finrosc had meant when speaking of an itching neck He could almost feel the rope of hemp tightening above his collar. As for their professions, he couldn't invent anything plausible in a moment, and his cloak would in any case give him away. He knew what was to follow, but answered:

"I am Beleg of Minas Anor, a fortune-teller. This is Roscion of Osgiliath, a bard."

Belhast was not surprised when a new peal of laughter escaped the men around them. The captain scratched his beard, looking very amused. He spoke, not even trying to hide his mirth:

"Well, no wonder you are good at nothing. Roscion, you just got a new duty. If you are a bard, you will play to me when I am bored."

Belhast suddenly realized something and said as boldly as he dared:

"To do that he will require his lute. Where are our packs? They contain everything we own. If we are to serve in your ship until you release us, we must have the means to survive after that, too."

Maegaer looked at the kidnappers, who drew back a little. The captain said in a soft, much too soft, voice:

"You said they had nothing on them. Did I hear wrong?"

Faldir, the other of the men, said sheepishly:

"No, captain, but we thought…"

Maegaer snapped:

"Thinking is not your business, but carrying out my orders is! We are not robbers. Give them their stuff back!"

"But, captain…"

"Now. I don't want to repeat my commands. Khamid learned that hard way."

Faldir paled and bit his lips at the mention of Khamid, and Belhast felt even more miserable than before. He thought he could guess what had become of Khamid. After all, one sailor was missing, besides the cook. He looked at Finrosc, who returned the look, shaking his head a little, in a sign of dejection. Anmir had already disappeared under the deck, without waiting another word.

After a moment Anmir returned, carrying the bundles of the foster-brothers. He flung them towards Belhast with a frustrated air, grumbling:

"There! I hope you are happy now. I wonder why did you want such rubbish back."

Belhast handed the other pack to Finrosc and opened his, ascertaining if everything was in its place. Nothing had been taken, even the purse with the silver was still there. With a trembling hand he drew his "magic-cloak" from the pack and looked at it. The seams of the lining were undisturbed, which made Belhast sigh from deep relief. Even a professional thief would not have bothered to sew the seams again, if he had taken the money from the cloak. Belhast couldn't be sure, but as it now obviously wasn't the proper time to check more closely, he packed the garment again, trying to look as careless as he could. He said to the captain, somewhat morosely:

"Nothing has been taken. I guess I should thank you."

Maegaer only replied:

"I don't need your thanks. It's just common prudence. If you will go to the harbour guards at our destination and complain you have been kidnapped, they will ask you first if you were robbed. The answer being 'no', they won't do a thing. Acquiring crew in this way is just too common. In the other case it would be piracy, and that could lead to difficulties. And lastly and most importantly, I am not a thief nor allow my men to be that."

Belhast had nothing to comment on this reasoning, but said instead:

"Captain, you have spoken of our destination now twice. May I ask what is it?"

As he had thought that the Sea-Eagle was only a coastal merchant ship, his eyes understandably widened from hearing the reply:

"Tharbad, in Eriador."

Belhast opened his mouth to plead that he and Finrosc would be left in any Gondorian harbour, but once again managed to resist his first impulse. The captain would only laugh at the proposal, and offering money could be dangerous. Sight of gold could make Maegaer to forget his scruples about piracy, and the Sea was so wide and deep that the brothers would disappear quite conveniently and efficiently. So prudence gained a victory and Belhast remained silent. As if anticipating his thoughts, however, Maeager said:

"If you thought of running from the ship in some harbour on the way, you are out of luck. We won't stop anywhere before Tharbad. We only anchored at Pelargir to replace the dead men and take enough drinking water. So your best bet is to do your best at your posts."

Both Belhast and Finrosc were crestfallen and said wearily:

"Yes, captain."

------

R&R, please.


	8. Chapter 8: The Great Sea

Disclaimer: See chapter 1.

Chapter 8: The Great Sea

Maegaer changed his tone to a somewhat more civil one:

"Good. You… Roscion, wasn't it? Take the stuff of you two to the kitchen cabin, then come to receive new orders." He waved towards the rear portion of the deck, where there was a low cabin with a round roof and a narrow door to which one had to descend three plank steps. Then the captain turned to Belhast:

"You, Beleg, go with Jarl to the hold. The dawn is only two hours away, so you must make the breakfast for the men. They have laboured the whole night, so make it a hearty one."

Belhast guessed that it was no good to resist, so he turned and was about to follow Jarl, when he realized that he didn't know how many men there were on the board. He looked over his shoulder to captain, who said, anticipating his question:

"Fifteen sailors, I, and you two. Jarl will tell you the rest."

Belhast followed now the bulky sailor, whose face was still morose. However, in the light of the little lantern Jarl was carrying, Belhast saw that his face wasn't as hard or grim than those of Faldir or Anmir, for instance. Belhast's trained instincts told him that Jarl was most probably quite good-natured deep down. In every case, it was not useful or healthy to be in a ship full of sailors accustomed to toil and possibly violence, especially if one of those men held a grudge against you. Belhast, therefore, tried to invent means by which he could pacify the resentful feelings of Jarl.

Only when they were in the hold did Jarl open his mouth. He opened a large crate and said gruffly:

"There. The breakfast is usually a bowl of porridge and two salted herrings each."

Belhast now said in as regretful manner as he could summon:

"Jarl, I am really sorry that you lost your job because of me, but I really had no choice, did I? I guess you liked to be the cook?"

The big man, not used to be addressed so politely, looked surprised and answered, a bit more friendly than before:

"Well, yes. I had bigger portions and the work was not hard."

Now Belhast tried a bit of coarse flattery, deeming Jarl to be simple enough to swallow it:

"Oh, you had to be a good cook, if the captain promoted you to that post."

Jarl now looked hard at him, as if trying to discern if Belhast made fun of him. But seeing the simple smile on Belhast's face, he grinned sourly.

"It was more like a demotion, I tell you. Once Cooky was dead and hauled overboard, the captain ordered me to take his job, since I am "too clumsy and in everybody's way". Those were his very words." He shrugged.

"Well, I don't care a bit. I was the carpenter of this ship and will continue to be that. The pay is nearly same and that's not very hard, either."

Seeing Jarl to be less reserved, Belhast said:

"But you still resent the change, don't you?"

The other answered, again with a shrug:

"Oh, yes, but just for the food. I know I'm not a good cook, but the sea air makes one hungry."

Belhast knew now that Jarl wasn't a revengeful man, and said as the last attempt to flattery:

"You surely underestimate yourself. At any rate, you know of cookery in a ship more than myself. I'd be grateful if you could give me some advice, until I have got used to the job."

Jarl gave him a smile and answered:

"Oh, if you want, as you seem to be a decent sort of a chap, for a land crab. Well, here comes the first advice: I said there would be two herrings each for breakfast, but after a night spent in work, four is the usual amount. The fellows up there are hungry, you know."

Belhast thanked Jarl for the advice and took a great bag of flour and a little barrel of herrings with him, as he ascended back to the deck. When he came to the kitchen he found Finrosc scrubbing the floor vigorously with a sponge, which he dipped to a bucket of water every now and then. Despite of their strange and worrying situation, Belhast couldn't resist a little gibe:

"Well, well, each to his own, it seems. Before, you cleaned houses, if you take my meaning, and now you are cleaning a ship. Quite a fresh turn for your career, right?"

Finrosc answered with a savage obscenity and by hurling the sponge towards his brother's face. Belhast neatly ducked, however, and the sponge hit only the door. The fortune-teller then took his pack and checked his cloak now more closely, and breathed in relief finding that the money was still inside the lining. Hearing this news, even Finrosc cheered up a little. Belhast saw an apron hanging from the wall and donned it, starting his work with a lighter heart than an hour before.

"We'll get by, we'll get by", he thought as he reached for two big kettles, hanging from hooks in the ceiling.

------

After two hours the kettles were full of steaming porridge and the smell of fried fish spread from the cabin. Even for eighteen men, the cooking wouldn't have taken so much time if Belhast had been accustomed to the constant movement of a ship. He tottered to the deck, trying to keep the heavy kettle in his hands despite of the swaying of the ship. Seeing this, the sailors took their spoons and bowls and formed a line. In the pale light of winter morning their faces looked tired, but still eager to get some hot to eat. While dividing the porridge, Belhast observed his surroundings.

The wind had strengthened shortly before the dawn and dispersed the night mist, so the visibility was good to all directions. There was nothing to be seen, however, but the endless procession of grey waves, breaking against each other. Only the faintest of shadows in the northern and eastern horizon hinted that the ship was still relatively close to the land. Belhast looked the faraway coast with regretful eyes and let out a sigh. Then he turned his attention to the ship in which he and Finrosc were destined to remain for, how long, he could not guess.

The vessel was a big cargo-ship, maybe some sixty yards in length and twelve in breadth. It had three masts, the midmost being the tallest at almost forty-five yards. Belhast now saw that his estimation of the previous evening had been grossly wrong, since the masts were much taller than he had seen in the darkness. They carried full sails, so the ship was going at a good rate, well earning the name of Sea-Eagle. The sailors slept in their own hold in the bow and the trapdoor to the cargo hold was situated at the centre of the ship, before the root of the great mast. Captain's cabin was in the stern, elevated from the rest of the deck by some four and a half feet. The rudder, which was never left without a man to handle it, was before the cabin, in a narrow, man-high "box" with window-like openings to all directions. Seeing this arrangement Belhast wondered how it would feel to stand there all day in a storm. The prospect wasn't very delightful, but since there was no danger he would be ordered to take the rudder, he shrugged and returned to the kitchen to fetch the herrings and more porridge.

------

The days went on in a like manner, Belhast cooking and Finrosc doing his duties. Belhast and Finrosc had questioned the captain as to when they would arrive at Tharbad and learned to their dismay that it would take a bit over two months. The captain had shrugged:

"If the wind is good, it's one week over, otherwise two. However, if we get to a storm, we'll have good speed and may save a day or two."

The mention of storms did nothing to cheer the brothers up, especially since Finrosc was constantly seasick even now and Belhast was quite green on his face, too. But in the course of three weeks they got somewhat used to living in the ship, and Finrosc didn't have to make 'sacrifices' to Ulmo and Ossë anymore, as his stomach stopped its rebellion.

At one evening, just after supper, the brothers held a council, since for once Finrosc wasn't needed anywhere. They were in the kitchen, Belhast leaning his back against his bed, which was in a small alcove behind the kitchen. Finrosc, who had been less fortunate when it came to sleeping arrangements, lied on his straw mattress on the kitchen floor. The bard fingered his lute absent-mindedly, but was nevertheless the first to speak:

"Well, it seems that our plans need to be altered."

Belhast puffed:

"Altered, you say? Rebuilt from scratch, you should mean. We are going hundreds of miles to the wrong direction."

Finrosc stroked his chin and answered:

"That may be not so bad a thing as you see it to be. I have been thinking…"

Belhast looked attentively at him when he went on:

"You remember, our original plan would have compelled us to journey long in the wilderness, almost all the way in fact. But now…"

Belhast interrupted:

"Now what? We still have to toil through woods and even more than that, since we have to cross Misty Mountains somewhere. I reckon we don't want to break our legs by walking all the way from Tharbad and through Calenardhon, just to get where we started."

Finrosc said:

"Not indeed. But you don't listen to the end. I have studied the maps and found that save the Mountains our way to Rhûn is now easier than through Dagorlad. We have a clear road to follow until, and even through The Great Wood. Then we are on the threshold of the East."

Belhast shook his head.

"Where are your eyes, Roscy? The way is still leagues and leagues more than from Ered Lithui."

Finrosc smiled:

"Ah, it may be so, but look at the map more closely." Belhast took the map from his pack and studied it carelessly. Finrosc enquired ironically:

"Well, what are those black lines leading to the Inland Sea?"

Belhast scratched his head and answered, somewhat piqued by the manner of the other:

"Why, rivers, of course. I am not stupid."

Finrosc tapped the bridge of nose and said:

"If you are not, then you see that they flow towards the Sea, not out of it."

Belhast looked once more, folded the map and slapped the back of his hand with it, exclaiming:

"By the Valar, you are right! It is only a matter of acquiring a boat, and on we float, with scarcely lifting a finger." Then his brow clouded, however.

"But from where we get the boat? I will not trust a raft, and we can't build any better vessel."

Finrosc took the map and held it before Belhast's eyes, pointing with his finger a spot in it.

"From there. You see, there's a town marked in it, scarcely two day's journey away from the end of the Forest Road. Esgaroth of the Long Lake is its name, as our notes tells us."

Now Belhast was truly hopeful and had only one objection left:

"But how are we to survive in the Great Wood? There's an evil sorcerer there, and Orcs and nameless monsters, if the rumours are true."

Finrosc laughed:

"Oh, how scary! Bogeymen and evil wizards! Come on, we are grown men and not boys, to be frightened by fairy-tales! Even if the tale is true, the Necromancer is said to dwell in the southern part of the forest, and his power would be great indeed if he could control the Road, one hundred and fifty miles away from his tower."

To this Belhast had no answer, nor felt he any need to invent one. Their kidnapping seemed now to be less bad a thing than before. Even if they landed only at Yule, their travelling speed would be so great that they would be only days, maybe a few weeks behindhand their original plan. Besides they could now nurse their strength before the last and surely most trying portion of the trip. It was with content minds that the foster-brothers fell asleep that evening. Belhast dreamed that he was counting gold-coins, each of which gleamed joyously as they piled into a huge tower before him.

------

Every dream comes to the end, however, and they were less enthusiastic when the morning-bell rang at the first glimmer of the rising sun. Belhast, still yawning widely, immediately lit the fire in the stove and Finrosc rushed to get his today's orders after a hurried bite of biscuit and herrings. After the warmth of his blankets Belhast shivered, but soon the fire in the stove made him comfortable, and he couldn't really complain of his lot when he mixed with a ladle the bubbling cauldron, all the while munching biscuit with salted butter and a strip of bacon.

While dividing the breakfast to the men Belhast saw that weather was admirable that day. The sun was slowly rising over the horizon. At that season it did not really warm, but more than compensated that with the marvellous spectacle of its growing light. The sea near the horizon seemed to be in flames, the rays of light playing dazzlingly on the waves. The eastern sky was a vault of violet, orange and scarlet, with scarcely a cloud floating across it. When the brightness started to strain his eyes, Belhast turned his face to the west, seeing many stars still glimmering faintly, and the dark veil of the night giving way to a lighter shade of blue. The air was cool and crisp, and Belhast felt that in the morning like this it was a joy to live, even if the future would have been even more uncertain than it now was.

He breathed deeply, enjoying the refreshing scent of the sea and frost, when someone walked to him, saying:

"Taking a breath, Cooky? A bit stuffy in the kitchen, eh?"

Belhast turned to his left and saw Maegaer beside him, the captain's face ruddy face smiling. Belhast was not surprised of this friendliness, since during the voyage Maegaer had took a liking towards him after seeing that he was even somewhat better than Jarl with the food. Maegaer also liked the way Belhast and Finrosc, who as prudent men had not shown any overt signs of discontent or grudge, behaved. The captain's manner was always quite condescending, but that was much better than the threats of breaking the duo's heads. Cooky was the name with which almost everybody in the ship addressed Belhast now. He answered:

"Yes, captain. Isn't it a beautiful morning?"

Maegaer shrugged carelessly.

"Oh well, I don't care much of the beauty, but our speed is very good, with a wind like this. But take my word, there will be a storm soon, and then we will indeed fly over the water."

Belhast asked, incredulously:

"A storm, captain? I don't see a sign of anything like that." Maegaer grinned.

"That's because you haven't the eyes to see. You look at the pretty glitter over there and see a fine day coming. I, for my part, feel the wind picking speed and know that it brings clouds and rain from the south, if not today, then tomorrow. And when it rains, it will be snow. Don't you see the waves? They are lengthening and foam strongly. That's a sure sign that bad weather is brewing up, I tell you. Just look to the south, Cooky."

Belhast turned accordingly, and sure enough, he saw a grey shadow, almost imperceptible, in the horizon. If the captain hadn't pointed it out, Belhast wouldn't even have noticed it, or thought it was only the play of light in that early hour.

Thoughtfully he walked over to the bow, where he saw Jarl with his tools. He had formed a friendship with the big man, despite of his usurpation. The other sailors, for their part, were indifferent, if not exactly unfriendly towards him and Finrosc. Only Anmir and Falmir showed any overt dislike, perhaps still regretting they had not been allowed to rob the foster-brothers.

When Belhast came nearer, Jarl looked up and greeted him with the wave of his hand. The fortune-teller sat down next to him and said:

"Good morning, Jarl. Already at work?"

Jarl raised a plane, answering:

"As you see, Cooky. I have to make two new legs for captain's chair. He's a heavy man, so let's make them sturdy." He continued his work, and gradually a crude chair-leg became to form out of a piece of plank. Belhast noted to himself that Jarl would never get a job as a carpenter at land, since his work was serviceable, but nothing more. Even a poor farmer would buy something more refined. Therefore Belhast asked:

"Well, you have never told me how you came to this ship. Would you mind if I asked you that?"

Jarl laughed:

"Not at all. You see that I'm almost as bad with my tools than with the ladle and kettle."

Belhast tried to politely dispute this point, but Jarl only grinned and continued:

"Five years ago I got bored of my job as a farmhand in Lossarnach. Hard work with little pay, it was. Then, one fine day my cousin returned from sea for a while. I asked him if he could recommend me to some ship, since I fancied I had skills with tools. He is a good fellow and did that favour to me. And here I am," he ended with another wave of hand around him. Then he sighed:

"If I had known what's this like, I'd never have left the farm. There were at least open fields and merry streams, not cramped cabins and quarrelsome chaps all around you. And the fare was also better: Chicken and fried turnips during the week, ham and apple sauce at Highdays. But here? Herring, herring, herring, all the time, and sometimes a strip of half-rotten bacon! When we return to Gondor, I'll never set my foot on a ship again."

Belhast commiserated Jarl from his heart, since he himself felt the same things as the carpenter. After a short discussion more, however, it was time for Belhast to return to the kitchen, as lunch-time was approaching. He stopped shortly before the stairs to the cabin and looked to south. The grey shadow had deepened and grown. He sighed. The plans discussed only previous evening seemed to be farther from their completion than ever.

------

Read and review, please.


	9. Chapter 9: Ossë's Fury

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

Chapter 9: Ossë's Fury

When back in the kitchen, Belhast immediately lit the fire and began to prepare fish soup, aided by Finrosc whose task was to chop the dried vegetables. They spoke little, Finrosc being weary after his toils of morning (which had consisted of cleaning the captain's cabin and dumping buckets of waste into sea) and Belhast pondering the words of Maegaer. He began to worry when he noticed that the interval between the waves hitting against the ship was growing gradually longer. Their force, however, strengthened so much that the ship rocked in an ever wider arc, making it difficult for the brothers to remain on their feet.

After an hour Belhast was ready, but just as he was picking the huge cauldron up from the stove a sailor entered, saying:

"Let me take it, Cooky. The weather worsens and the captain ordered us to eat in the cabin. Come and fetch the cauldron later. The captain also told me to say to you he wants to give you some instructions."

The sailor went away and Belhast donned his sealskin jacket that he had bought only a week ago. As in most large ships, there was a store of tools and clothing aboard Sea-Eagle, managed by the mate of the ship. From there sailors could purchase items, their price being deduced from their pay at the end of the voyage. The price of the jacket had at first seemed monstrous, but after remembering his hidden gold Belhast hadn't bothered to haggle or complain too much. That had been a wise decision, since the garment didn't let wind through it and endured water well, even though it was a bit clumsy to wear.

After that he emerged on the deck. The wind had picked up and the sky was now completely clouded. The first flakes of snow fell already, and Belhast shivered after the warmth of kitchen. He stood for a moment and looked as six sailors fastened strong ropes between the masts, at about the height of an average man's hip, the others being busy taking some of the sails in, leaving only some that the ship could still be steered. Belhast wondered for a moment the purpose of the ropes but walked then to the captain's cabin and knocked on the door. Maegaer's strong voice bade him to enter.

In a moment Belhast was before the captain who was seated behind his table, examining sea-charts. For a moment neither spoke, Belhast waiting for the captain to speak. The latter scribbled a few numbers on a parchment made from birch bark, but after that raised his head and said:

"Good to see you came so fast, Cooky. I have a few orders to give."

Belhast answered:

"So Aertór told me. I reckon they are about my tasks. I must admit I have wondered how am I to cook if there will be a storm. I have even now trouble on staying on my feet, let alone play with hot stove."

Maegaer said, smiling dryly:

"That thing is easy, since you don't cook at all." Seeing the inquiring look of the other, he went on:

"Yes, you heard right. From this moment until the storm is over you will not light a fire if not absolutely necessary. Only the lantern is allowed to burn. Any accidents at sea can be disastrous, but a fire is among the worst of them. I think you won't want to both burn and drown. No? Very well. When you return, extinguish the fire if you already haven't done so."

Belhast took his cap off and scratched his head.

"Well, captain, it seems then that all have to do with salted herring and biscuits. It doesn't sound too savoury a diet, if I may say so."

Meager shrugged.

"Savoury or not, it is necessary. Take Finrosc and Jarl and haul some sacks of food and a barrel of water to the sailors' hold and kitchen cabin. See to it you take enough, since the storm can last for days. Also, after that remain in your cabin unless you absolutely have to come to the deck. I say this for your own safety, and that way you aren't in anybody's way." He stopped, clearly indicating the conversation was over, and looked again at the charts, making some notes in his crude, bold handwriting. Belhast, however, remained standing and cleared his throat. The captain looked again up, furrowing his brows a bit.

"Yes, what is it? Wasn't I clear enough? Speak fast, I have some calculations to do," he said in a slightly impatient voice. Belhast turned his cap in his hands and answered:

"Well, I just was wondering if you have any further orders for my friend Roscion. Is he to remain in the kitchen cabin or come here and follow your orders?"

The captain waved his hand dismissively.

"What use could I have for him, especially since he'll probably be seasick again? No, tell him he is free of his duties as long as the sea is rough. I deem you both have hard enough time to endure the storm, land crabs as you are." He resumed his writing, pointing with his left hand towards the door.

"You may go, Cooky."

------

Belhast carried out his orders to the letter, aided by Jarl and Finrosc. After that he lingered on the deck for some time, despite of the captain's words, wanting to enjoy of every moment of fresh air before he must enter the stuffy cabin again. He sat on the steps of the kitchen, watching the work of the sailors. He still pondered for what were those ropes he had seen, and when he saw Aertór passing by he asked about them. The sailor laughed a bit and grinned:

"It shows it's your first time on sea. Just try and take a walk on the deck this time tomorrow and you'll see what they are for. Without a handhold you are a plaything for sharks and dolphins pretty soon."

Belhast rose and nodded, seeing the logic. He stretched his limbs, taking one more glance around him. In the bow of the vessel he saw some of the men making a sacrifice to Ossë and Uinen, the Lord and Lady of the Sea. After a brief prayer to Uinen and a little song of one verse the men threw some copper coins to the sea, as a token for Ossë of their respect for him. Belhast looked on, hoping the sacrifice would be of some help. Then he descended to the cabin, since he must still check the kitchen utensils so that they wouldn't fall from their hooks.

No sooner had he finished this task than a great gust of wind hit the ship, making the sails bang and flap so that it could be heard even in the cabin. The rocking of Sea-Eagle increased in a matter of moments to such extent that Belhast and Finrosc nearly fell on their faces. They heard running footsteps from above as the sailors hurried to their hold, having finished with the sails just in time. As the brothers settled on their mattresses they heard the wind howling like a pack of wolves and the patter of rain as it descended from the sky. The dreaded storm had begun in earnest.

------

They spent one miserable day in their cabin as the ship danced among the waves as if it had gone mad. It was hard to even remain on the mattress as they slid from one wall to another and the constant clanking of pans and ladles swaying in their hooks was nerve-racking, as was the constant drum of rain from above. They were miserable and as the captain had predicted, very seasick again. They could eat and drink nothing, not that they even desired to do so. To make matters worse, they were cold, too. Although the kitchen cabin was tightly constructed from thick planks, without fire it was chilly and damp. The wind howled against it with such noise that they had difficulties to sleep. All in all, it seemed to them there was nothing left in the whole world but the rocking and swaying cabin and utter misery.

They had a poor night, clutching their blankets tightly around them and sleeping only in short fits, only to be awakened by the banging of sails or roar of waves as they washed over the deck. At about midnight a wave fell over the cabin and a small stream began to run from under the door. Finrosc was awakened by it only when it had reached his mattress and drenched a corner of it. He spent the next quarter of an hour in wiping the water from the floor and stuffing the little crack between the door and threshold with rags, all the time cursing obscenely. This awakened Belhast, who in his turn cursed and none too gently told Finrosc to shut his mouth. This nearly let into a fight, but both men were too weary to argue and in the end Belhast aided his foster-brother in his efforts.

At morning they rose from their uneasy beds and tried to eat some breakfast. They managed to swallow two salted fish and a biscuit each and even keep them in their stomachs, those organs having now somewhat accustomed to the situation. The salt, however, worsened their thirst that was none the better from all the vomiting they had done during the last day and night. Finrosc staggered to the water barrel, but opening it found it nearly empty, only some two pints in the bottom of it. He slammed the cover in its place, exclaiming angrily:

"Hasty, you fool! You were supposed to fetch water, too!"

Belhast answered irritably:

"And you were supposed to help me! In all this fuss I forgot our water. Don't blame me, you were there also! Why didn't you remind me?"

Finrosc sat down morosely, shaking his head impatiently.

"I know, I know! A fine thing is this that we should suffer from thirst in the middle of an ocean!" Then he looked at Belhast, a sudden worry in his gaze.

"Belhast, did we remember the water for the sailors? I don't think they would take it kindly if we didn't."

Belhast rose wearily and steadied himself grasping the corner of now cold stove. He said:

"Don't be worried, I clearly remember we hauled the barrel for them. Don't you remember how heavy it was?" Then he sighed and took two three-quarter-gallon tin bottles from a cupboard.

"It seems, though, that some must be fetched for us, too. And since it was me who forgot, I think I must be the one to do it."

He took his seal jacket on and tied the bottles with a length of rope to his waist, so that they wouldn't be hinder the use of his hands. They had little rings soldered to their necks so they were not even inconvenient. After these precautions Belhast drew his cap deep on his head and grasped the door-handle. Before he opened it, however, he turned once more to Finrosc with a tired smile.

"Don't you wander anywhere, I'll be right back."

Finrosc only humphed, mildly amused, and Belhast plunged outside to face the raging sea.

------

The weather was more horrible than Belhast had ever experienced or even imagined. The wind was so strong that it almost knocked him down, and he had to scramble the stairs up bent almost double. He was almost blinded by the hail of wet snow and water falling from the lead-coloured sky. Although it was mid-morning, it was almost as dark as just before sunset. Belhast almost turned back, but he knew that he must get water now, since he knew from the talk of the sailors that the storm could well get even worse before long and in that case he couldn't even attempt to walk on the deck.

He wiped the snow and water from his face with his left hand, groping for the rope between the masts with his right. After a moment he found it and clutched it gladly. The ship was like a huge whale playing in the water, moving both sideways and up and down, the bow sinking deeply into water every time the vessel descended a new wave. Water welled on the deck in a confused, foaming mass and sometimes almost reached Belhast's knees. It was very difficult to even stand, let alone walk, but Belhast tried. Leaning against the rope he took two steps on the deck, but stopped, when he heard something like a human voice amidst the roar of wind and water:

"Idiot… get back… not wise… drown…"

He looked over his shoulder and saw the sailor in helm waving to him frantically, his mouth wide open from his effort to be heard. The man's identity couldn't be discovered since he was all wrapped in leather and wool garments and his face was half buried amidst a wide, soft hat and a thick scarf, besides which he was securely tied to the rudder. Belhast waved back with his left hand and pointed to the bottles hanging from his waist, shouting:

"I must get water! Do you hear? Must get water!"

The helmsman shook his head, obviously not having heard and yelled once more, Belhast catching some words:

"You… not good… down now…"

Belhast did not heed the obvious warning but went on towards the hold, one step at a time. The distance was only a little less than fifteen yards, but it could have been as many miles for all Belhast thought, so tiring was the effort and so slow his advance. He had to synchronize his steps with the erratic movements of Sea-Eagle, at the same time keeping his face down to shield his eyes from the furious rain. About halfway the voice of the helmsman reached him once more, even more unintelligible than before:

"Beware… you idiot… plunges…"

Belhast suddenly felt the deck giving way under his feet and raised his head, while desperately trying to remain erect. Before his eyes opened a frightening sight. The ship was descending a larger wave than usual, and it seemed to Belhast like it was plunging into a deep mountain gorge. Before his eyes there was only a black wall of raging water, ready to swallow the ship. The bow of Sea-Eagle sank deeply into it and Belhast was sure that the vessel would go all the way into the bottom of the sea. The water reached ever higher on the deck and Belhast was sure that he sailors had all drowned, not knowing that the trapdoor to the hold was insulated extremely well and that only a small amount of water would get through. He screamed from fright, grasping the rope as if it was a magic trinket with the power to save him.

Suddenly the ship jerked upwards, starting to climb the enormous hill of water. The bow emerged from the water and rose rapidly to a high angle, wholly surprising Belhast. He lost his foothold and fell backwards, loosing his grip from the rope when a sideways movement of the vessel made him slide towards the gunwale. A great load of water gushed on the deck once more, accelerating his speed and almost choking him as it flooded his open mouth and nostrils. For an instant Belhast saw the helmsman stare at him, eyes wide with horror, his mouth open when he shouted something.

But there was no time to try to catch the words of the sailor, since Belhast was an instant away to being washed to sea. In wild panic he waved his limbs, trying to get hold of anything. In a shrill voice he cried:

"Uinen, Uinen, save me!"

Later he could not say if it was help from the Maia or pure luck, but his hand met with the gunwale just at the moment when he was almost out of the ship. He clutched the wood so hard that his nails broke. He tried to clamber back on the deck, but suddenly the Sea-Eagle descended again, rocking to another side at the same time. The side on which he hung was in a moment above water and the momentum tossed him on the deck, forcing him to let his grip. He slid towards the centre of the ship, bewildered and frightened. He had just enough wits left to clutch with his left hand at the saving rope when he reached it. With a frantic effort he grasped it with his right hand also and hauled himself on his feet. There was a moment of lull between waves and he managed to get to the trapdoor of the hold, using his hands as much as his feet in dragging his aching body.

He filled his lungs with air and without more ado he opened the trapdoor, stumbled down the stairs and slammed the trapdoor shut just as another wave washed over the deck. He took a step away from the stairs and crumbled to the floor, shivering all over and panting heavily. He lay there for perhaps half an hour; exhausted and almost not able to believe he was still alive.

------

At length Belhast recovered somewhat and stumbled to his feet, remembering the reason he had come here. After his near death it would have been stupid indeed to go back without water. The bottles were still fastened to his waist and clanked against each other as he rose. He swayed towards the back portion of the hold, where the food and drinking water were behind a flimsy wall of wood. He leaned on a water barrel and opened it, after taking a ladle from its hook. He dipped the ladle to the barrel and brought it to his lips, drinking deeply. The cool water instantly eased the burning of his salt-scalded mouth. He drank again, feeling a little better after the cool draught.

He filled the bottles and tied them again around him. For a moment he looked for his cap, but then realized it was gone. Then he gathered his courage and ascended to the deck at the moment the ship was more or less level and stable. This time he had more sense than before and tied the rope around his waist so that both he and the rope attached to masts were inside a loop. Even if he lost his foothold his armpits would catch the loop and not let him go sliding like before. He smiled grimly and thought:

"To live is to learn."

Then he began to walk towards the kitchen cabin. Twice he stumbled, but the ropes held and he was able scramble onwards. He looked up and saw the helmsman again, surrounded by hail of snow. He waved to the sailor, who shook his head at Belhast and tapped his forehead. Belhast only laughed, feeling extremely relieved after his near escape. He breathed deeply when he was able to unfasten himself and enter the cabin. He handed the bottles to Finrosc, divested himself of his drenched clothes and changed dry garments on. After that he sat heavily on his bed, sighing:

"Well, Roscy, next time it's your turn."

------

Read and review, please. As for the measure systems, I will use several of them in this story, since I assume that there were many in Middle-Earth after the fashion of medieval Europe. For the realms of the Dunedain I will use old English measures, for the Northmen regions the medieval German ones and for Easterlings the Eastern Europeans. I hope this will not result in too much confusion and to avoid this I will put explanations in the end of every chapter.

A gallon = 4.54609 litres.


	10. Chapter 10:Another Kind of Storm Brewing

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1. The similarities between this chapter and one of the scenes in R. L. Stevenson's novel Treasure Island are intentional. This chapter is intended to be kind of a homage to one of my favourite novels when I was a child.

Chapter 10: Another Kind of Storm Brewing

The storm lasted for two days more and Belhast and Finrosc remained the whole time in their cabin, wrapped in their blankets. They drank and ate sparingly, since either one of them didn't want to risk a walk on the deck again. Their condition, however, was better than in the first day and they rejoiced when the sound of wind and roaring of waves gradually lessened. The Sea-Eagle rocked less almost hour by hour and they didn't need anymore to grasp something to remain standing. They could now even sleep properly, a thing that cheered them still more.

On the morning of the third day the brothers awoke to a near silence, only faint flapping of the sails and the constant murmur of the Sea being heard. Surprised, they rose and walked to the cabin door, the Sea-Eagle having ceased its prancing. The gentle swaying of the vessel seemed to be like that of a comfortable cradle to Belhast and Finrosc. Finrosc opened the door and peered outside, exclaiming:

"Look, Hasty! It is a wonderful morning!"

He stepped out, giving Belhast space to do the same. The fortune-teller ascended the steps and looked upwards. The sky was almost clear once more in the light of the rising sun. A strong but steady wind blew scattered clouds high over the blue vault. Only towards the north and east, in the brink of the horizon, bigger masses of clouds could be seen like grey and black towers and mountains.

Belhast took a few steps on the deck and stopped, smiling and stretching his tired limbs. He felt more relieved than for ages and the bite of the cold air on his nose and cheeks was refreshing. He enjoyed the moment with all his heart, but was interrupted when Maegaer strode in front of him, booming:

"Good morning, Cooky! Still alive, eh? Aertór told me of your little adventure. He was very surprised you managed it." He chuckled:

"Why, you must have a taste for danger and more lives than a cat!"

Belhast answered humbly:

"Not particularly, captain. I only had to fetch water."

Maegaer shook his head and said:

"Well, be that as it may, it was a stupid thing to do."

Belhast only shrugged, and the captain went on:

"Now the weather has cleared you will resume your duties, of course. So don't just stand there but go to cook some breakfast. The sailors, and I, are ravenous. Tell Roscion to come to me to receive work."

Belhast nodded and walked briskly off, glad to have the warmth of the stove again.

------

The day went by in usual fashion; only all were in better mood than normally. Belhast whistled merry tunes as he stirred cauldrons of soup or porridge and chopped fish and vegetables. Even Finrosc wasn't as sulky as usually but sang or hummed as he scrubbed the deck from the filth and salt the storm had tossed on it. It was a day joy of all that were alive. One sailor had gone overboard as he had returned from his spell at the rudder. That was regarded as a light loss, however, since often even three men could drown during such weather.

After the dinner, when the sky began to darken, Belhast went for a sniff of air on the deck. There he saw Finrosc, who likewise was now free of his duties. The bard sat in the bow of the ship, his lute in his hands and sang to his own accompaniment a sailors' song:

The waves rise and fall

on the wide, wide Sea.

Such my life also shall

be, as wild and free.

The storm wind arises,

it shrilly howls in the masts.

A dark wave another chases,

for ever the race lasts.

The sky is black as night,

the water steely grey.

Fearful is the ocean's might,

if we live or die, none can say.

But should I not ever return,

o my gentle and fair maiden,

do not with your grief burn,

I died as I lived, as a true man.

No tears needs a seaman

on his wide, deep grave.

Mirth and a merry tune

is what he likes to hear.

Jarl, who was sat nearby with his tools, forgot the axe to which he was supposed to replace the handle and listened at the voice of the singer. A few other sailors, too, had ceased their work and sat or stood turned towards Finrosc. Belhast smiled dryly and shook his head. Finrosc had always known how to fascinate his audience even if the song wasn't so good. Now, for instance, with his dreamy poise and an almost brand-new sailor suit from the store, he looked like a true sailor singing his love and longing for the world to hear. Judging from his somewhat smug expression he also knew it full well and enjoyed every moment in the "spotlight". Belhast grinned and sat down on the steps, munching on a piece of bread and listening as the bard launched into a new song.

------

When they went to sleep, Belhast was sure that he would drop off in an instant. But in that he was wrong. During the last five years he had grown accustomed to three meals a day, and the growl of his stomach told him he had missed quite a few in the last days. He turned to his side, trying to ignore the gnawing feeling in his guts, but it was of no use. He tossed on his bed for a few hours, but sleep evaded him. Finrosc's snoring didn't help, either.

Close to midnight Belhast at last wearied of this and rose with an exasperated sigh, browsing through the contents of pantry in his mind. He snorted, remembering there were only dry bread, rye flour for porridge and those eternal, boring herrings. His stomach told him that he needed something stronger and he knew where to find it. In the hold there were casks of bacon and ham, and the thought of them made Belhast's mouth water. He knew the meat was to be carefully rationed and to be caught was to invite punishment, but his hunger conquered over his fear and he donned his clothes hastily on, thinking:

"I take only a little. Besides, I am the one who keeps count of the food and holds the keys. A little strip of bacon and a slice of ham with a piece of bread and no one is the wiser."

He stepped silently over the sleeping bard, who still snored loudly. Belhast slowly opened the door and peered into the night. He saw the watchman in the bow as a silhouette against the sky and heard his faint footsteps. When the man's back was turned he started to sneak towards the hold with soft steps. The masts and the kitchen cabin sheltered him from the eyes of the helmsman and the sounds of the Sea drowned the faint noise of his footsteps.

In almost no time he was at the trapdoor and opened it only so much he could fit through. He slid inside and softly closed the trapdoor above him. He found he was enjoying the fact he could still move so silently and unseen. Obviously his skills as a thief and burglar hadn't got so rusty he had thought. But this was only a trifle, and the real test still awaited its time.

He blinked in the black darkness around him, but decided against lighting the lamp he had brought with him. It was useless in any case since he knew the whereabouts and contents of the food compartment even without light. He took support from the wall and walked to the plank door of the compartment, taking the key from his pocket.

He opened the door and went inside, closing even this door behind him before he thought anything. Noticing he had committed this excessive precaution, he smiled to himself:

"Old habits die hard."

He groped in the darkness and found the barrel with bacon. His mouth watering in anticipation he started to loose the cover, but was stopped by the sound of opening trapdoor. There was a moment of confusion and fear he had been discovered. He grimaced, trying to steel himself for the inevitable whipping. But then his common sense took over. If the watchman had seen him, why would he have waited for so long? Wouldn't he have asked for an explanation? But if the comer wasn't the watchman, who could it be?

His questions got an answer in a moment, for wary footsteps of maybe four or five men came down the stairs and the trapdoor closed with a faint click. A voice spoke gruffly:

"Anmir, light the bloody lamp! I don't want to break my neck."

Another voice, which Belhast recognized to be Anmir's, answered:

"All right. There's no risk whatsoever, in any case. The pals on the deck think like us."

A bright spark flashed and after a few moments the faint glow of a lantern illuminated a portion of the hold, blinking through the holes between the planks of the compartment wall. At first Belhast was startled, but noticed quickly that his hiding-place was outside the sphere of light. Becoming curious he pressed his eye against a hole, and saw four sailors sitting down on the wooden floor. Anmir and Faldir were two of those, being accompanied by Horuk, a swarthy, lean Haradian and a man from Tolfalas named Aodnait.

When the men had sat comfortably, Aodnait morosely asked:

"So, what was the purpose of dragging me out of my hammock and bringing me here? You said you had some profitable offer for me, but couldn't it have waited to the morning? Why this secrecy?"

Horuk answered angrily:

"Are you a coward? Or why such half-heartedness?"

Aodnait half rose, his hand reaching for his knife. The man spoke through gritted teeth:

"I am not a coward, and I certainly don't allow a dirty blackbrow like you call me such! Say it again and I'll skewer you!"

Horuk sprang to his feet, snarling, but Anmir stepped between the furious men and said in a commanding tone:

"Knives away! Horuk, keep your peace. Aodnait knows yet nothing of our plans and his reservations are understandable. Lose your temper once more and I'll make sure you can't as much as breathe an angry word again. In fact, you may find that to breathe at all is pretty hard after I've finished with you."

He stared hard at the eyes of Horuk, who for a moment looked defiantly back. Soon, however, the Haradian had to lower his face before the stern countenance of the other. Anmir nodded and turned towards the other sailor.

"Aodnait, sit down and listen to what I have to say. And keep your hole shut until I am finished."

The sailor did as he was told, and Horuk also sat opposite to him, still glowering. Anmir remained standing, however, and spoke:

"So, Aodnait, we asked you to come here because we had on offer to you. That is true, but before I say more, I must ask how you like our captain?"

Aodnait thought for a moment and answered:

"Why, he's a harsh man, but not very bad as captains go."

Anmir shook his head.

"How about Khamid, then? Maegaer crushed his head like he was nothing but so much dirt."

Aodnait answered:

"You forget I was there, too. Khamid had slept in watch and drew his knife on the captain. What man is that who wouldn't defend himself? That dark-skin was all too fiery for his own health."

Hearing these words Horuk stirred and would have sprung at Aodnait if it were not for Faldir who restrained him. Anmir smiled and said:

"If you were there, you also know Maegaer insulted Khamid grossly. No Southron will meekly listen such vile words, or isn't that so, Horuk?"

The Haradian raised his fist, exclaiming:

"The captain called my cousin a dirty dog and a son of a bitch! That insult alone would have needed blood to be washed away, but now he has the blood of Khamid on his head, too!"

Anmir nodded and said to Aodnait:

"You heard that. Maegaer doesn't understand his men at all. Besides, he is reckless and a danger to us all. Didn't you see how much sail he ordered to be left on during the storm? If that didn't show his lack of interest to our lives, I don't know what does. The ship could have capsized!"

Aodnait replied:

"That is a poor excuse and you know it. The Sea-Eagle has a heavy and deep keel of lead and iron and wouldn't have gone down with even more sails. If you are going to induce me to join a mutiny, as it seems, you must try something else."

Faldir, who this far had remained silent, now said in a chillingly calm voice:

"How about if I said you will not leave this place alive if you don't agree to help us?"

Aodnait visibly paled, but said haughtily, rising to his feet:

"If you think so, come and fight me! Even if it were three against one, at least one of you will die with me!"

The others grasped their knife-hilts, but Anmir remained calm and slowly laid a hand on Aodnait's shoulder, speaking in a soft voice:

"Now, now, it is of no use to get so excited. Faldir was only jesting, no one here wants to kill you. If other reasons don't move you, how about money, then? Lots of it, I can promise."

Belhast, who had feared to see a murder, breathed again when he saw Aodnait relaxing and pondering upon these words. The sailor spoke slowly:

"How much exactly?"

Anmir laughed a little.

"I can't say down to a copper penny, but enough for you to live comfortably for years."

Aodnait's expression changed and his eyes started to glint eagerly in the lamp-light. Anmir, who evidently saw he had touched the right chord, went on:

"You know our cargo consists of valuable spices and rolls of silk. When the captain and those who side with him are out of the way, we may sell the whole thing in Tharbad and pocket the money. For seven men, for including you we are seven, it is a pretty sum, I can tell you. As a supercargo I should know. Imagine what you could do! No more stuffy cabins or stale food, but roomy houses and feasts fit for a king! Imagine how delighted your sweetheart will be when you return to marry her, richly dressed and your pockets full of gold. Come now, won't you be one of us?"

Aodnait stroked his hair thoughtfully and Belhast could see he was struggling with himself. Finally the sailor asked, the lust for money strangling his voice:

"But are you sure we will get so much from them?"

Anmir smiled.

"If not, we have even better things to sell. I found by accident a secret extra cargo of captain's. Three little kegs, but they are worth almost a third of our other merchandise. Some in Arnor will pay handsomely for a chance to escape the worries of this world for a moment."

Aodnait asked:

"You mean…?"

Anmir broke in:

"Yes, I mean the dream-weed, and finest quality of that, too. Hashish would Horuk here call it. The kegs are full of it, in the form of pills and paste. I have never tried it myself, but they say a spoonful of the paste makes you to believe you are in the very Valinor itself. The stuff is worth its weight of gold." The thing was apparently news to Horuk and Faldir also, who looked at each other with joyful expressions. Aodnait, listening Anmir, opened and closed his fists, his face lit with eager anticipation. He spoke hoarsely:

"I will side with you. What must I do?"

Anmir patted his shoulder, smiling.

"Presently, nothing at all. The mutiny, or the change of management as I prefer to call it, starts only about a week before we arrive at Tharbad. Whatever can be said of Maegaer, none of us is his match in navigation, and it would be only stupid if we didn't profit by his skills. Ninth of Ringarë is the day we act. We will attack just after the noon-meal, when all lie lazily on their hammocks. First we clear the hold of our opponents and then it's the turn of Maegaer and the mate."

Aodnait thought for a moment and replied:

"It sounds simple enough, but what are we to do with those who side with captain? I suppose we will bind them and eventually set them into the boat to fare as they may."

Anmir and Faldir laughed, and the cruel ring of it made cold sweat flow down Belhast's forehead. Anmir calmed himself and said softly:

"You are jesting, aren't you? A boat, eh? So that they could eventually get to Tharbad, denounce us and send the navy of Cardolan after us? I don't think so, Aodnait."

The sailor paled a little, and stammered:

"You, you mean…?"

Anmir replied coldly:

"Dead men tell no tales."

Aodnait wiped his forehead, hesitating. Anmir went on:

"Come, Aodnait, why do you shirk from a little bloodshed? I tell you, it is them or us. We are in for the gallows for the mutiny alone, so what does it matter if we let the air out from a few tiresome fellows? Just think about the money, and steel yourself."

Aodnait made no reply, but buried his face in his hands, seemingly thinking hard. Anmir said:

"Well, if that gives you so much trouble, I can manage the thing so that you won't have to kill anybody. I'll arrange it so that you'll be the watchman on the deck when the show begins. You have just to make sure that no one gets out of the hold so that we can finish them off. How does that sound to you?"

Aodnait raised his face and said, still a bit hesitatingly:

"If you promise I won't get blood on my hands, I will be with you."

Anmir offered his hand to him, saying:

"Here's my hand on it."

Aodnait stared at the offered hand for an instant, but then raised his own and gripped Anmir's wrist firmly. Then the sailor spoke:

"I will accept your command, captain Anmir. I have only a few questions about the details: Who are already in the plot?"

Anmir replied, waving his hand around him:

"We four, Thorgeirr, Mabhast and Fionn."

"How about Cooky and that Roscion? You haven't said anything about them."

Anmir drew his forefinger over his throat, in a gesture that was all too telling to Belhast, who was by now shuddering by dread and agitation. Then Anmir spoke:

"Honestly, I had almost forgotten those two. They pose no threat for us, but as possible witnesses they must be silenced."

Aodnait asked:

"But why not ask them to join us? I must say that Cooky has done good job and they aren't bad sort of fellows."

Anmir shook his head.

"They are useless for us. Do you really believe they would want to do the captain in? Damn it, he prevented Faldir and me from taking their stuff as a bit of bonus. And haven't you seen how friendly Cooky chats with Maegaer? We have to kill them, too. Or are you saying that will be a problem for you, all of a sudden?" Belhast paled at this, but pressed his eye firmer against the hole, seeing Anmir to shoot a menacing glance at Aodnait, who hastened to say:

"No, not at all! I was just wondering."

Anmir grinned pleasantly and said:

"Well, any more questions?"

Aodnait replied:

"What are we to do with the ship after we've sold the cargo? It would be a shame to sink this good a vessel."

It was Faldir who answered this time.

"That's simple. We either sell the Sea-Eagle at some port in Eriador or Harad and go each to his own way or continue to sail with her and become adventuring gentlemen." Aodnait smiled.

"Pirates, you mean to say?"

Faldir shrugged, nodding. Anmir rubbed his hands, pleased, and said:

"Well, now all that is settled, I suggest we'll go to get what sleep we can. After you, Aodnait."

The sailor, thus addressed, rose the steps and disappeared from Belhast's sight. The other three, however, made no movement to go but remained where they were. Horuk spoke thoughtfully:

"I am not completely sure of him. It is well if you trust him, Anmir, but he's soft all the same."

Anmir shrugged.

"He will not give us away and that's most important now. He values his neck and knows that to speak would mean to get it cut in two. After we've taken the ship over we have time to think what to do with him. If he shows any sign of regretting the thing, then, well…" He smiled dryly.

The others nodded a little, contented by this speech. They all rose and mounted the steps leading onto the deck. After they had shut the trapdoor after them, Belhast sat heavily on the floor, shuddering all over. He took a deep breath, noticing only now he had been holding it for many seconds. He had only one thought in his head:

"I have to warn the captain!"

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Read and review, please. I have given Celtic names to those characters who are from western fringes of Gondor or from White Mountains, since they are likely to be of pre-Numenorean descent and thus have not Sindarin names. This is in keeping with prof. Tolkien's practice (the Anglo-Saxon names for Rohirrim etc.).


	11. Chapter 11: Fight at Open Sea

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

Chapter 11: Fight At Open Sea

Belhast remained for some sitting in the darkness, his heart pounding with fear and agitation. When he regained his senses his first impulse was to rush onto the deck and to the captain's cabin. His common sense, however, prevailed. The watch- and helmsman both were Anmir's men and to be seen by them would invite a knife in his throat. He rubbed his temples, trying to calm himself.

For a moment he thought about sneaking back like he had come to the hold, but he dared not. One slip of foot would have alerted the men on the deck and that was a thing Belhast definitely didn't want to happen. There was only one option: To remain in the hold until morning. After the morning bell there would be the usual chaos of men hurrying to their tasks so that nobody would even notice Belhast emerging from under the deck. And if somebody did, he would just think Belhast was fetching food for breakfast. Satisfied with this plan, Belhast thought:

"And then I'll go to see the captain or send Finrosc to do that. Anmir won't suspect a thing."

As there was nothing else to do, he leaned his back against the wall and closed his eyes, trying to get some rest. But sleep evaded him, as was only natural. He only dozed for a few times and was every time awakened by violent dreams. The night wore away and after a while that seemed to be a year, the sound of morning-bell finally penetrated into the hold. Belhast rose and stretched his aching muscles before heading for the trapdoor with trembling knees.

------

He emerged to see most of the crew busy in their tasks. No one paid any attention to him as he walked to kitchen, carrying the food he had taken from the hold. At the door he encountered a yawning Finrosc, who asked:

"Why didn't you wake me up when you rose? Not that I am too keen to awake early but the captain won't be pleased if I tarry."

Belhast glimpsed around him and replied in a low tone:

"I have something to tell you. Come inside."

Finrosc was about to speak, but the look in Belhast's face silenced him and he followed his brother into the kitchen. When there, he enquired:

"So, what is it?"

The answer was grim:

"You had better sit down. There will be a mutiny and our lives are in danger."

It took a few moments of Finrosc to realize what he just had heard, and for a while he just stared like a madman at Belhast. Then he sat heavily on the bed.

"When? And how do you know?"

Belhast hurriedly explained everything he had heard in the hold, and Finrosc's brows furrowed more and more with each word. After the tale was told, he asked:

"So, what are we going to do? Surely we don't just wait until our throats are cut?"

"Not indeed. We must warn captain, but it must be done so that Anmir and Falmir don't get a clue." Belhast stroked his chin and pondered a little.

"Well, let's pretend everything is as usual until the breakfast is served. While you get the food to captain, tell him that I have something important to tell him. Then call me to him. Make sure that it looks normal."

Finrosc nodded and without another word started to help Belhast with the cooking.

------

An hour later the duo emerged on the deck, carrying the cauldrons of porridge. Belhast started to serve it to the hungry men while Finrosc hurried off to captain's cabin with a tray of food. It took all the acting skill Belhast possessed to appear calm, especially when Anmir came to get his portion. The super-cargo peered into the cauldron, scoffing:

"Porridge again? I swear, if I eat any more of this stuff, I'll turn into a pile of corn myself!"

Although he wanted to recoil from Anmir in disgust and horror, Belhast feigned indignation:

"If it isn't good enough, you are not forced to eat it! This is a ship, not a first-class tavern! There are others who would eat your portion with gusto."

Anmir laughed:

"We are a bit touchy today, aren't we? Very well, just give me the poison! But if your cooking kills me my blood is upon your head."

Despite his slightly shaking hands, Belhast unceremoniously ladled Anmir's bowl full and called out:

"Next!"

After he had served all the sailors, he saw the door of captain's cabin open and Finrosc walking out, waving to him. Finrosc bellowed, so that everyone heard:

"Now you have blown it, Beleg! Captain wants to see you and he's not in good mood!"

Belhast exclaimed with false annoyance:

"What is it, then? Is nothing good enough for him?"

"I don't know, but he muttered something about burnt porridge."

With an irritated air Belhast tore his apron off and tossed it inside the kitchen cabin as he walked past the stairs. Faldir watched him with evident enjoyment at his discomfort and jeered after him:

"Good luck, Cooky! I hope you'll come back in one piece."

Belhast answered only with an obscene gesture and entered captain's cabin.

------

The door had scarcely slammed shut behind him when Maegaer took him by elbow, asking:

"So, Roscion here babbles something about a mutiny. Are you drunk or is this some jest? For your sake I hope not."

Belhast answered:

"I would this was a joke, but I am in deadly earnest." He then proceeded to describe in detail what had passed in the hold, only holding back why he was there in the first place. Maybe Maegaer guessed that or he didn't care, since he didn't press the matter further. He scratched his beard, musing:

"I should have guessed this. Anmir and Faldir have always been troublesome fellows, I tell you. But Aodnait? Who could have known?"

Belhast broke in:

"Money is a powerful seducer, captain. But what are we to do now? I guess we must prevent their plans somehow."

The captain determinedly replied:

"Yes, of course. We must strike first, and strike hard." He smiled grimly. "Finally I have the chance to teach a lesson to Anmir! I have suspected him of brewing trouble ever since Khamid died, but wasn't sure. When did you say the mutiny was planned?"

"Ninth of Ringarë was the day."

Maegaer paced to and fro, his face thoughtful. Then he stopped and spoke:

"Very well. We shall strike the day before, just before dawn."

Finrosc was baffled:

"Why only then? Wouldn't it be better if we got it done even today?"

The captain grinned.

"I have the same reason as them: No reason to waste working hands sooner than is necessary. Let them toil and think they are safe. And then…" He slammed his fist on the table, roaring the last words:

"Then they are done for! I'll teach them to cross me!"

The brothers jumped a little, but Maegaer didn't care and went on:

"Very well, I shall talk with the men not involved in this and see who is to be trusted. You two, not a word to anyone! Just keep calm and quiet, while I make the preparations." He walked to a large chest and opened it. After brief searching of its contents he pulled out a short sword and handed it to Belhast.

"Here. If something goes awry and they act sooner than planned, you two must defend the kitchen. Keep it concealed until needed."

Belhast took the sword and drew it halfway out from its scabbard. Its blade was sharp and nasty, and Belhast shivered involuntarily. He sheathed the weapon again and concealed it under his coat, saying:

"Thank you, captain. I really hope I don't have to use this."

The captain snorted.

"I hope so, too. If everything goes as I want, they won't even get out from the hold, let alone storm your cabin." He signed with his hand.

"Now, off you go. Remember, everything must seem to be as usual."

Belhast nodded and hurried from the cabin, with the air of a chastised man. Seeing his depressed countenance, Faldir called out:

"So, did the old bear bite badly?"

Belhast answered sheepishly:

"A bit. I wonder how on Arda I managed to burn the porridge. I must be more careful in future."

Jarl broke in, genuine sympathy in his voice:

"Well, at least he didn't hit you, or did he? Watch yourself around him."

Belhast gave him a brief smile and nod and descended into the kitchen. Once there, his first action was to hide the sword under his mattress. He sat on the bed, breathing deeply.

------

The next three weeks were torment for both foster-brothers. The acting, which they were forced to, grated on their nerves. But they endured it, as there was nothing else they could do. To see the rebels daily and speak with them without revealing anything was harder than Belhast had expected. His years as a fraud and a con man definitely came handy now.

The captain had obviously alerted the trustworthy men, but Belhast couldn't tell it from anything else but a knowing look directed at him now and then. That even Jarl had been told became evident when the carpenter came to the kitchen cabin one night. He tried to discuss the matter with Belhast, but the latter silenced him promptly by changing the subject. To Belhast and Finrosc it seemed that the tension on the ship was almost material, like a heavy mist hanging from mast-tops. Yet, none of the rebels showed any sign of impatience or suspicion.

Finally came the evening of the seventh of Ringarë, and the brothers knew the fight would begin in a few hours. They tried to sleep but only rolled on their mattresses, fully clothed. It was only long after midnight they finally dropped to sleep.

------

Shortly before sunrise loud noises and furious yelling rudely awakened them. To their frightened ears it sounded like all the demons of ancient Angband had suddenly descended on the ship to tear it to pieces. Bewildered, they sprang on their feet and rushed to the deck, Finrosc snatching the short sword with him.

They emerged to see that the fight in the hold had begun in earnest and the rebels were trying to break onto the deck. Jarl, however, stood by the trapdoor, clumsily kicking the heads and hands that tried to rise from below. The brothers rushed to aid him, but just at the moment a strong arm managed to grasp Jarl's leg, pulling furiously and the fat man fell on his back. Belhast and Finrosc, however, didn't have the time to check if he was well. A man instantly leaped on the deck and in the gloom of early morning they saw it was Horuk, his head bleeding and his shirt in tatters. But there was a murderous light in his eyes as he sprang towards Belhast and Finrosc, holding a long knife.

Seeing Horuk's onslaught, Belhast, being unarmed, turned instantly to flee to the kitchen. But Finrosc managed to keep his head calm and rushed to meet the Haradian. Horuk cursed and tried to stab the bard, but Finrosc leaped aside and the blade only pierced his sleeve. Finrosc jerked away and the knife was wrenched from Horuk's grasp, clattering onto the deck. The Haradian swiftly stooped to recover it, but Finrosc thrust his sword forwards. It sunk into the side of Horuk, who howled with anguish before falling on his face. He wasn't dead yet, however, but stubbornly tried to crawl towards the knife, panting heavily with pain and rage.

Finrosc was horrified when he saw the blood spurting from the wound and hastily drew the blade back. He had often been in tavern brawls and such but never before had he been compelled to kill anyone. This time, however, it was his life or Horuk's. When he saw the wounded Southron reaching for the knife he bit his lips and steeled himself to finish Horuk off. Anmir, Faldir and Thorgeirr who now rushed from the crew hold stopped him, however. When the rebels saw Finrosc, they ran towards him, holding their weapons aloft. Seeing that he was outnumbered, Finrosc suddenly decided that prudence was the best part of valour and retreated to kitchen. The now more composed Belhast already guarded the door, holding a large frying pan and a sturdy kitchen knife as his shield and weapon. Belhast yelled shrilly:

"Quickly, Roscy, or you're a goner!"

Finrosc pushed himself past his brother, snarling:

"As if I didn't notice it already!"

He stood behind Belhast, who readied himself for defending the cabin. An instant later Thorgeirr rushed on the stairs, bringing his axe down on Belhast, who recoiled in fright. The weapon cleaved the doorstep and stuck there. Thorgeirr stumbled forward and Belhast saw his opening, waving his frying pan with all his strength. The pan clanged on the back of Thorgeirr's head with a nasty crack and the sailor collapsed onto the steps without so much as a sigh. Belhast stepped forward, dropping his knife, and pulled the axe in his hand. He had scarcely done so when he heard Anmir's voice above the tumult of the fight:

"To the kitchen cabin! There we'll have our backs covered! Quickly, from behind!"

Belhast yelled:

"Roscy, watch the back wall! I'll take care of the door!"

Finrosc nodded and turned around. An instant later an axe crashed against the planks, splinters of wood flying inside the cabin. Finrosc was startled, but steadied himself as the second blow hit the wall, tearing a large hole into it. Two hands appeared at the both sides of the gap, trying to pull the planks apart. Finrosc stepped forward and thrust his sword out of the hole. There was a pained yell and the hands abruptly jerked away. Only spots of blood remained on the broken wood.

The brothers now had a chance to catch their breath as the rebels abandoned their attempts to take the cabin. Peering from the door Belhast saw the end of the vicious fight, the remaining rebels being quickly killed or subdued. Both sides showed vigour and bravery worth of a better cause, but before long all was over and the prisoners securely bound. The sight of bleeding wounds sickened Belhast, his stomach feeling as if it had turned upside down. He had to swallow down a mouthful of bile.

------

The brothers ascended to the deck, where Maegaer already stood, darkly eyeing the surviving rebels. Belhast and Finrosc walked nearer and saw that of the rebels only Aodnait, Horuk and Anmir still lived, bound hand and foot in sitting posture. Horuk, moreover, seemed to be in the throes of death, breathing with much difficulty and barely conscious. Aodnait was the only one remaining uninjured, since he had surrendered almost as soon as the fight had begun. Anmir, for his part, was bleeding from an arm wound and his left eye was so badly bruised he couldn't open it. His right eye, however, moved to and fro with a look full of hatred and defiance. The captain seemed to be angered by this and spat in his face.

"You bastard! Still sneering, eh? Wait until I hand you over to the hangman and we'll see if you laugh then!"

Anmir smiled scornfully, only the slightest hint of fear in his voice as he spoke:

"You do well to mock a helpless prisoner! If my hands were free you wouldn't be so cocky at all."

Maeagaer shook his fist before Anmir's face.

"You would like if I unbound you, wouldn't you? Not a chance, you piece of shit! I should kill you now!"

"Try if you can, you wimp! No wonder you are so spineless. Your mother was a street whore and your father…"

Anmir's sentence was cut short as the captain tried to punch him hard. Anmir, however, had anticipated this and quickly rolled on his side, evading the blow. Maegaer's fist hit the mast behind the super-cargo with full force. The captain cursed, rubbing his injured fist. Then, hearing Anmir's spiteful laugh, he let out an inarticulate cry of anger and stepped back to kick the spark of life out of Anmir. Aertor, however, stepped between them and said calmly:

"Captain, this is of no use. That scoundrel just fears the rope and tries to make his end faster."

Maegaer puffed for a moment, then replied stiffly:

"You are right, damn it!" He shifted his gaze to Anmir, who tried to haul himself in upright position again. Maegaer's voice was icy:

"You will die slowly, I promise that much. I myself will come to watch as the hemp rope squeezes your foul breath out of you."

Then he turned away and strode to his cabin, to the relief of Belhast and Finrosc. They had feared to see yet another murder. They stepped forward and started to tend the wounded sailors with Aertor, Belhast still swallowing hard every now and then, his face ashen pale. Of the faithful crewmen one had died and two were wounded, luckily not very badly. Bandaging and a day or two of rest would mend them. Jarl had only passed out for a moment when he fell and was still a little stunned, which surely would pass with a little time and a good sleep. After that the duo returned to the cabin, their knees still shaking from the excitement and fear. Finrosc asked, trying to sound casual:

"How about breakfast? A slice of bacon would do good."

Belhast couldn't resist his nausea anymore, but vomited explosively.

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Read and review, please.


	12. Chapter 12: Finally In Eriador

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1. That Tharbad is the capital of Cardolan is only my own assumption since I haven't been able to confirm this way or the other from Tolkien's works.

12: Finally In Eriador

After Belhast's nausea passed (and after he had cleaned the mess) he finally could calm himself enough to light the fire and make breakfast. When he ascended to the deck with a platter of bacon and bread he saw that the corpses had been carried near the gunwale and covered by a spare sail. The fortune-teller sighed in relief and distributed the food to the survivors. He forced himself to eat a large piece of bread and a few strips of bacon, but they felt like so much lead in his stomach.

After the hurried breakfast it was time to bury the dead in the sea. Aodnait and Anmir had already been carried to the hold and secured by chains to the wall. The corpses of the rebels were tossed overboard without any more ceremony than the grunts of the sailors. Horuk was among those hauled overboard, since he had died half an hour after the encounter between Anmir and Maegaer. Finrosc watched grimly as the Southron's limp body splashed in the sea, popped briefly on the surface and disappeared under a grey wave a second later. Belhast laid his hand on his brother's arm. His voice was soft:

"Don't be too sorry for that. He would have gutted you if you hadn't acted."

Finrosc stared into the water.

"I know, but I haven't killed anyone before. And I hope I don't have to, ever again."

Belhast sighed:

"Yes, I feel so too. When Thorgeirr attacked me, I couldn't think of anything, I just hammered him down. I… I broke his skull just like that…" There was a silence, but then Belhast shook his head a little.

"Still, better this way. How do they say? A living fox is better than a dead lion."

Finrosc nodded and they stepped away from the gunwale, since now it was time to bury the dead sailor who had sided with the captain. He had been the mate of the ship, a skilled and intelligent man. The four uninjured sailors, including the now almost recovered Jarl, solemnly carried the body to the gunwale on a bier made of pieces of plank. A length of canvas covered the dead sailor and a large stone from the ballast had been fastened to his ankles. At a sign from the captain, the sailors slowly and respectfully lowered him at the deck. The brothers bared their heads and looked on thoughtfully, yet a little surprised that these rough men could show such respect and solemnity.

Maegaer stepped next to the bier and made a brief speech, extolling the bravery and loyalty of the deceased. Then Aertor, who had been promoted to mate, stepped forward, his head lowered and his arms crossed on his chest:

"Eru Iluvatar, we leave our comrade to your keeping. Speed his way to whatever place you have prepared for Men. May he walk in Light for ever."

He raised his head and signed to the sailors.

"You may give him to the Sea."

The men balanced the bier on the gunwale and slowly raised the end that was inside the ship. The body slowly slid downwards and fell into the waves. Some foam flew up to the deck, there was a faint splash, and then the dead mate vanished from sight, drawn to the bottom by the stone. The captain quietly ordered:

"To your posts. Cooky, at dinner you may pour a cup of rum to each man."

It was with silent steps and downcast faces that the men set to work.

------

For the rest of their journey the sailors were quite busy, since they had to manage the ship with less than half the usual crew. When they still were at open sea, even Belhast and Finrosc had to take the rudder for some hours per day and be at watch at night. Maeager instructed them closely before trusting the rudder to them, so they could keep the vessel in roughly right direction, glancing at sun every now and then.

Four days later they finally spotted land, and at the cry of the lookout all sailors ran to the bow to take a glimpse at the shore of Eriador looming in the horizon. Maegaer took a look at a sea chart and after using the cross-staff to determine their position he proclaimed they were only a bit south from the spot where he originally had intended to sight land. They would enter the mouth of river Gwathló at nightfall at latest. If the winds would continue to be favourable they could be in Tharbad in three or four days.

That the captain had been right became evident at sunset when they arrived at a relatively narrow bay, from the northern end of which a great river poured its waters to the Sea. Maegaer ordered the anchor be lowered near the shore, since it would be unwise to attempt to rise up the river at night. Gwathló was quite navigable until Tharbad, as the Numenorean seamen had discovered already thousands of years ago, but near its mouth there were a few submerged cliffs that could be easily avoided, but only in daylight.

The sailors retreated to their sleeping quarters, but Belhast and Finrosc remained on the deck, longingly gazing towards the shore. The sun slowly sunk into the sea behind them, and darkness veiled the eastern sky, looking like a cover of deep blue silk. In the gloom they could see ruins of ancient buildings amidst thick bushes and bare trees. They did not know it, but they looked at the remains of once important Numenorean haven of Lond Daer. A thousand years and more had passed since the port and the city had been left to fall in ruin, but many stonewalls and sturdy houses still fought against time and inevitable decay. Many memories of glory and greatness slept here under moss and lichen, forgotten by all Men save few. This was the spot where Tar-Minastir's great army had landed during the War of the Elves and Sauron in the times long past, and this was the first settlement of the Men of West in Middle-Earth.

But the foster-brothers did not think at all of that. Their relief at the nearing end of their long journey took precedence over the deeds of kings long dead. They breathed deeply the fresh night air, not speaking for a long time. Finally Finrosc broke the silence.

"Well, at last we are here. I never knew how much I could miss honest, brown soil."

Belhast leaned his elbows on the railing.

"Nor I. Just a few days and we can go on with our task."

Finrosc sighed heavily.

"Our task… Funny that we have barely survived this but don't even know if we get back to Gondor alive. I wish we were already there and I had the money in my pockets." He straightened his back and took a step towards their cabin.

"But well, it's of no use to ponder upon 'maybes' and 'ifs'. What if we tried to cram a few words to our heads and then go to sleep?"

"Sounds fine."

Belhast smiled and walked away from the gunwale. During the journey they had decided to spend their time usefully and had read the language book every evening save during the storm, examining from each other what they had learned. They already were somewhat confident that they could manage in Rhûn, but there were still some structures and such that never seemed to stuck in their memories. Accordingly, they sat down on the floor when they reached the cabin, and Belhast opened the little book.

"Now, Roscy, how do you say: 'Where is the nearest inn?'"

------

For the next three days the Sea-Eagle sailed against the slow current of Gwathló. The brothers spent much time on the deck, relishing on the sight of forests mingling with open plains and moors. On the second day the ship glided past small villages and farmsteads, and those aboard could see peasants walking on roads and paths, minding their own business. The kingdom of Cardolan had not yet been compelled to endure attacks from Angmar and it still was prosperous and peaceful. As far as the brothers could see from the high deck, most of the people lived on the northern bank of Gwathló, the lands to the south being wilderness save a few pitifully small hamlets seemingly decaying on the verges of the river.

By the dawn of the third day, the Gwathló narrowed and its current strengthened somewhat. The going was slow with only sails, and the Sea-Eagle had to anchor for a few hours at the docks of a small garrison, while waiting rowing boats required for towing the ship to Tharbad. A troop of soldiers embarked the vessel to inspect the cargo. Maegaer ordered the prisoners to be brought on deck, asking the sergeant to wait. Soon Anmir and Aodnait were dragged from the hold, their wrists still securely in chains. Seeing the soldiers, Anmir tried the last desperate gamble. He exclaimed with a masterful display of innocence:

"Thank Valar you are here, sergeant! Finally I am free. Our captain has imprisoned me and my friend here without any reason whatsoever." Seeing the sergeant's brow furrowing in confusion, he went on:

"And worse than that, that hound has murdered half of our crew with his henchmen!" As Maegaer stepped furiously closer, he flinched from him and his voice grew shrill:

"Please, save us! Don't let him kill us!"

Two of the soldiers stepped between Anmir and Maegaer, who had knotted his fists and was almost trembling with suppressed anger. The sergeant spoke gravely:

"Does he speak the truth, captain?"

Maegaer snorted:

"He is made of lies and deceit! It is he who planned a mutiny and it is he who plotted to kill me and others in our sleep!"

A brief, mocking smile flickered on Anmir's lips. Only Belhast noticed it, since the others looked attentively at the captain and the sergeant. Belhast had a flash of realization: Anmir didn't know he had listened at them in the hold. But well, why would, or should, anyone have told him? Anmir spoke again, now more confidently:

"Let him show some proof, some witness! He doesn't have any." He looked aside at Aodnait.

"Isn't that so, my friend?"

Aodnait only stared at the tips of his boots and mumbled something incomprehensive. The sergeant looked at the prisoners and then to the captain.

"He is right. If you have attacked them and men have been killed, you must show convincing proof that you had a right to do so. Otherwise we must arrest you for murder."

Maegaer uttered a grimly amused snort.

"Ask Cooky, I mean Beleg, here. He heard when these scoundrels plotted our death."

At a sign from the sergeant Belhast stepped forwards and related everything he knew, remembering even some exact phrases from the discussion. With every word he spoke, Anmir's eyes grew wider and his face paled. Still, the super-cargo composed himself with a visible effort and cried out:

"He lies! He has hated me ever since he came to our ship. I admit I tried to steal some worthless trinket from him, and this is how he pays me back!" He raised his bound hands in a pleading position.

"Cooky, Cooky, isn't condemning me to death a bit too much for such a trifle?"

Belhast replied coldly:

"Stop this boring play, Anmir! I was there, listening you and I think I can prove it, too." His gaze moved to the other captive.

"Aodnait, am I not right? Did you not speak with Anmir that night? Didn't he offer you money?"

Aodnait glanced to and fro as if looking for a way of escape, cold sweat dripping from his forehead. But there was no opening, and he saw he was hopelessly surrounded by hostile eyes and armed men. The muscles of his face twitched, and suddenly he broke into a nervous speech:

"Yes, I confess! Cooky spoke the truth, everything is plain truth. I swear, I was not myself when Anmir made his offer. They threatened me with death! Please, you have to believe me! I didn't want to kill anyone, and I didn't!"

He covered his face with his hands, his voice trailing away. Anmir glared at him, and shouted in a voice devoid of all control:

"You damned, cowardly fool! You just killed us both!"

He shook his fists at the young sailor in impotent fury, but Aodnait didn't even notice it, being too much absorbed in his own fear and guilt. When he raised his gaze again, his eyes were vacant and seemed to stare something that was far away. The sergeant grasped his arm.

"Very well. Come with me, you two. No tricks or you'll regret it."

He led the unresisting Aodnait down the ramp and turned to watch as two men-at-arms took Anmir between them. The rebel cursed and kicked, fear of death shining in his eyes. He was so wild in his efforts that one of the guards had to take a thick wooden truncheon from his belt. Belhast and Finrosc winced despite themselves when the club descended on Anmir's head with a dull thump. He had to be hit twice more before he could be dragged from the ship, half stunned. The sergeant barked orders to his men, who led the prisoners away. Then he walked up the ramp once again, stopping before Maegaer.

"I think this matter is now settled. They will be sent to Tharbad to face trial. You, and all your crew will be needed to bear witness, so don't leave the harbour until given permission. A herald will carry you the summons to court in a day or two. Have a good day, captain!"

He saluted briefly, then turned and walked away, soon disappearing inside a little tower. Maegaer ordered all men to their posts, to be ready when the towing boats would arrive.

------

Three boats arrived at noon, ten rowers in each. It was a work of just a quarter an hour to fasten the Sea-Eagle with ropes to them. Maegaer ordered the anchor be raised and the ship separated from the wharf, the ropes between it and the boats tightening. Then the rowers started to pull their oars, chanting a monotonous melody to keep the rhythm.

They arrived at Tharbad a few hours later and threw the anchor next to a great stone dock. Belhast and Finrosc leaned on the rail, gaping at the great city. They had thought that the realms of the North were half barbaric, sporting no such centres as Minas Anor or Osgiliath. But the sight of Tharbad, the seat of King of Cardolan, soon convinced them that they would have to reconsider that idea.

They were at the southern side of the city where the harbour for great ships was. Big warehouses, tall wooden cranes and cheap taverns and lodging houses for sailors dominated this part of the city, extending far towards the horizon. Sailors, scribes and workmen bustled on the roughly paved streets and alleys between the buildings, everyone busying somewhere or carrying heavy loads from the many ships docked there. To the eyes of the brothers it seemed rather like a giant hive of ants, with all the running or toiling men and rattling wagons. There was a constant rumble emanating from the rolling wheels and moving cranes. This great centre of trade was like a heart pumping the blood of goods to all of Eriador, the veins spreading far north and west, even up to lands beyond Nenuial and the North Downs. Only the grim, bare land of Angmar and the silent Elven forests of Lindon did not receive any drop of this flood of distant luxuries.

Belhast and Finrosc turned their gaze to the north and saw the other half of the city spreading before them. The ground rose gently towards the north, and the houses of affluent people were built on the slope, many surrounded with gardens and stonewalls. Towards the river there were many shops and rental houses that served as dwellings for craftsmen and their workers. This part of city was well ordered, with square blocks and straight, well-paved streets that ran in approximately north-south direction. Beside wide marketplaces and plazas stood sturdy stone buildings, obviously guardhouses, offices and courthouses. And finally one could see the castle of the King looming above the city. It was built on a hill a little outside of the city and circled by a wall of grey granite. Tall, grey ramparts and towers gave it a sombre look despite of statues and ornamental gateways that masons of old had fashioned.

The brothers were still standing and marvelling at the sight when Maegaer walked behind them and coughed. When they turned, the captain spoke:

"Well, now that we are here, our 'agreement' is over. After all you have done I am in your debt. If you will, I can take you as passengers back to Pelargir." He thought for a moment and added, smiling:

"Or, I would be grateful if you took a permanent post in my ship. I need sharp fellows in my crew and you seem to be just that. I could offer double the usual pay and perhaps a small share of the profit of every journey. How would a copper for every gold piece sound to you?"

Belhast and Finrosc looked at each other, knowing they thought the same thing. Finrosc spoke:

"Um, we are much obliged by your offer, but regrettably we can't accept it. Now that we are here in Tharbad, I think we could stay here and try to find employment. That was why we were in Pelargir in the first place."

Belhast broke in:

"Yes, and looking the size of this place I don't doubt we find jobs in a day or two."

Maegaer looked disappointed but said:

"So be it then. You can stay in the ship until we leave if you want. But if you want to move to an inn now, you are welcome. I recommend The Broken Jug in this side of river. I will send a man to let you know when you are required to come to the court. After the trial come back here and I will pay you your wages."

The brothers nodded and heartily shook Maegaer's hand, smiling widely. After that they went to the cabin. Tidying the kitchen up and slinging their packs on their backs was a work of just a few moments. Then they ascended to the deck, closing the door behind them for the last time. With brisk steps they walked down the plank leading to the dock.

But there was a final surprise in store for them. Almost as soon as their feet touched the pavement they almost fell on their faces. The ground seemed to shake under them, and for a moment they experienced a strange fear. But then they realized that the ground was still and that their legs just had grown accustomed to the constant swaying of the ship, a thing every sailor experiences after a long voyage. It would pass soon. Laughing, they supported each other by shoulders and walked away from the docks, swaying like drunkards.

------

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	13. Chapter 13: The Trial

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

Chapter 13: The Trial

The brothers staggered for some two hundred yards before their legs finally believed the land was stable. They stopped to buy two meat pastries from an alehouse and munched them as they walked down the muddy street. After herrings and porridge they tasted wonderful, and after the last bit had disappeared down his throat, Finrosc even licked his fingers clean.

"Ahh, now that did good! After all that fish we have eaten I wonder we haven't grown fins."

Belhast grinned.

"Yeah. And some say that travelling on sea is fun!" He wiped some snow away from his cloak.

"Well, we should now find the Broken Jug. I long to sleep in a real, soft bed for a change."

They had to stop once to ask for directions but finally they arrived before a massive house, alongside a busy marketplace. It was crudely built with uneven stones but looked sturdy enough. Over the door facing the marketplace a wooden sign was hung. The sign depicted a cracked jug, water leaking from the cracks, and sported the text "THE BROKEN JUG" in red, tall letters.

The brothers strode in and saw a large hall furnished with tables and benches. The walls were of same haphazard masonry than in the outside, but the ceiling and the floor had been made of wide, heavy timbers. The floor was worn shiny by booted feet and not-so-gentle brushing, and the ceiling was blackened by the smoke lazily rising from many iron chandeliers. There were lots of people, mostly poor-looking men, eating or drinking. Belhast and Finrosc had to use their elbows when they made their way to the counter standing in the far end of the hall. Once there, they had to wait for some time before a slightly panting servant hurried to the place. The man hastily wiped some sweat from his brow and then brushed it to the breast of his stained apron before speaking.

"Good day, masters! Sorry to make you wait, but as you see we've got our hands full at the moment."

Belhast genially answered:

"Oh, it is well, we understand. Do you have a free room? We have just arrived from a long sea voyage and would like to relax for a few days."

The servant took a big book with wooden covers from under the counter and browsed its wrinkly and greasy leaves.

"Oh, yes, we do have a room with two beds and a separate living room." He paused for a moment, glancing at the weather-beaten brothers with close scrutiny. Then he added, hesitating a little:

"Only, it is the only room we have left and… naturally it costs more than a simpler one. You know, with the living room and all…"

Finrosc waved his hand dismissively:

"Oh, no reasons to stammer like that, man! We'll pay in advance, and in honest silver."

He took his purse and placed two silver coins before the servant.

"Is this enough for three nights?"

The countenance of the servant brightened so much, that Belhast had difficulties to keep his face straight when the man answered eagerly:

"Oh, yes, sir! It is way more than enough. Wait for a moment and I'll fetch you the change."

"No need at all. We are going to have our meals here, too. Here's some money for that."

Finrosc carelessly tossed a third coin on the counter.

"Keep the change. But I expect there's good beer and meat with each meal."

The servant bowed low.

"Yes, sir! Whatever you wish!"

He took the coins and put them in the pocket of his apron. Then he walked from behind the counter and signed to the brothers.

"If it pleases to follow me, good sirs, I will take you to your rooms."

It pleased the brothers, and they followed the man from the hall. After ascending a steep stairway and walking down a long corridor the servant opened a door and bowed again.

"Please enter, sirs."

The brothers walked in. They were now in a roomy parlour furnished with a dusty easy-chair, a little tea-table and a larger dining table with four chairs, everything being durable and serviceable but not much more. On the floor there was a faded carpet that perhaps had once been scarlet. A single shelf was nailed on the wall beside the door, full of cheap-looking volumes. Two narrow windows with small glass panels gave light to the room, together with a glass lantern hanging from a chain attached to the ceiling. An empty fireplace stood in the corner with a pile of firewood beside it. All in all, the room was comfortable and cosy if not very luxurious. In any case it was as good as Belhast's little house in Minas Anor. Belhast and Finrosc looked at each other and nodded in approval.

They directed the servant to light the fire and went to the bedroom. It was quite long but narrow and there was just enough space between the two beds for a man to walk. The bedclothes looked clean enough and there was a washstand with a bucket and a basin, so everything was in order. Belhast observed:

"Why, this is much better than I expected. Actually better than home. Very costly, though."

"Well, I think we can live comfortably for a few days at least. When we are on the road we are lucky if we get a roof over our heads at all."

There was nothing to add to this, so they returned to the living room. The servant had already lit the fire and welcome warmth started to spread into the room. Belhast and Finrosc thanked the man and let him go, telling him they would eat in the main hall later. The servant vanished with many 'thank you sirs' and 'as you wish, masters', and the brothers were left alone.

------

They took their packs and outer garments off and sat at the table. Finrosc leaned his elbow on the table and asked:

"So, what next?"

"We make plans, what else? The course of action which we discussed in the ship seems the best to me."

Finrosc shrugged.

"Well, I have no better options to offer. I think there's not much else to discuss than what we need on the journey. It is winter and we can't just walk happily along a sunny road." He sighed.

"Or then we could spend the winter here and go on in spring."

Belhast shook his head.

"No, we must go soon. If I have seen rightly, there are plenty of villages and farms along the way so we don't have to sleep in the snow, at least not often."

Finrosc agreed to this and they started to talk about what equipment they should buy. That was quite a lengthy list, however: An axe, a spade, a tent canvas, travel food, and so on and on. When they had left Minas Anor they had planned to buy most of their supplies only in northern Ithilien, so the present contents of their packs was quite insufficient. After they had gone through the list Belhast grimaced.

"Damn, if we carry all this we are going to travel with a snail's pace. But it seems there's no other way."

Finrosc rubbed his chin before answering.

"Yes, there is. We just buy a packhorse or a mule. It costs a lot but we can afford it. The feed is no problem if there's as much places to buy it as we think."

Belhast slapped his forehead:

"Of course! How didn't I realize that?" Then he went on, a bit more thoughtfully:

"Still, with those expenses we must spare what money we can. That means we must work along the way."

Finrosc laughed.

"If it can be called 'work'. With your tricks and my lute we'll get by well enough."

Belhast smiled and nodded. At last things were looking up, and if nothing unexpected would happen they could expect to cross the Misty Mountains already in early spring. After that… Belhast checked his racing hopes. Well, it was better to think about it when the time would come. He said:

"To speak of another matters, you know we must go to the court in a day or two. It's quite inconvenient but I think we must do it."

"True. If we won't turn up in the trial we may even get the guards after us. So we'll be good boys, say our piece and go away. I reckon they have no clue here of who I really am."

They talked for a while longer and decided it would be the most convenient to do the purchases the day after the trial. After that was settled they rose and went to the main hall to see what was for dinner.

------

Next morning Jarl knocked on their door, telling them that the trial would be at noon. He was delighted when the brothers invited him for breakfast. They all ate in silence, Jarl concentrating on his food with almost religious zeal. After he had finished the last piece and heaved a huge sigh of contentment, Belhast asked him:

"So, I reckon the trial won't be a long affair. What do you think Anmir and Aodnait will get?"

Jarl drained his mug of tea and laughed.

"Oh, as for Anmir, methinks the hangman will get a customer. Good riddance! But I would be sorry if they condemned Aodnait to death, too. He wasn't that bad a fellow, and he didn't even join the fight."

Belhast and Finrosc only shrugged. They felt little pity for the young sailor, but didn't particularly relish the idea he, too, would be hanged. Let the justice run it course, Belhast thought. They followed Jarl outside and through winding streets. The courthouse was in the northern side of the river, and along the way the brothers saw quite a few stores and shops they decided to visit in better time.

When they arrived at the courthouse they had to wait for some time in a high hall. Finrosc was very uneasy and nervously shifted his feet on the polished stone floor. There were quite a few people in the hall, and Finrosc eyed them suspiciously from time to time. He started badly when a troop of city guards marched in, their boots banging on the floor and their armour clinking. Belhast had to nudge him with his elbow before he calmed down. A moment later Maegaer arrived with his crew.

"Ah, good to see you! Let's get done with this, shall we?"

The brothers only nodded, since a guard now opened a heavy pair of doors at the far end of the hall, crying:

"The case of the Sea-Eagle mutiny! Accusers and witnesses, enter!"

The men strode into the courtroom and were directed to sit on benches lining an empty space before the judges' seat. They saw that Anmir and Aodnait were already there, standing in fetters in a booth and closely guarded by four men-at-arms. Maegaer spared scarcely a glance for them but sat down and crossed his arms on his chest. Belhast, however, observed the prisoners more closely. Anmir's face was calm but pale and there was a sullen defiance in his expression. Aodnait, however, looked like he was about to collapse under the weight of his chains and his guilt. His face was downcast but Belhast could see traces of bitter tears on his cheeks. A pang of pity flooded Belhast, but he wiped it away. After all, Aodnait had brought this on himself and must now face the consequences.

His thoughts were interrupted when the judges entered. All in the room stood up at a signal from a trumpet and a cry:

"The judges arrive!"

A tall man clad in long robes, followed by two middle-aged men in more modest apparel, entered from a side door. Belhast, having been in courthouses all too much, gathered that in Cardolan there was obviously one judge and two jurymen in trials. The judge stopped before his seat and tapped the floor with his staff that symbolized his office.

"Let the trial begin! Accusers, come forth."

Maegaer stepped forwards and related Anmir's plot and how it had been foiled. Then it was the turn of witnesses to speak. Belhast was ushered before the judgement seat and after taking the oath he told about the discussion in the hold, all the while nervously turning his cap in his hands. After that Finrosc attested that Belhast had probably been in the hold at the specified time since he hadn't woken him up at the usual time. The testimonies of the crew were also unanimous: There had been bad blood between Anmir and Maegaer ever since the ship had left Umbar. When all that was said, the judge turned towards the accused.

"Do you have anything to say to your defence?"

Anmir shook his head scornfully, trying to look brave.

"No, I haven't. I'm going to be food for crows anyway, so I say only this: The only thing I regret is that I couldn't gut that fat pig Maegaer."

The judge's voice was stern when he replied:

"Do not hurl insults so lightly. This is a trial, not an alehouse. You do nothing to help yourself."

Anmir only shrugged, but then it was Aodnait's turn to speak. At a sign from the judge he stammered:

"Your honour, I was tempted and in my folly I accepted Anmir's offer. Please do not condemn me to death! I've got an old mother back in Tolfalas and she couldn't bear it if I was hanged. I didn't kill anybody and gave myself up when the fight started. Please, you have to believe me! Put me in heavy chains, make me mine stone, flog me even! Anything but death!"

The judge didn't move a muscle on his face at this begging and coolly answered:

"We have heard a witness here to tell that you were not willing to harm anyone. We will take that in consideration." He stood up and raised his staff.

"I and these two honourable masters will now retire to discuss upon all we have heard. We will pronounce the verdict when we return."

He strode out of the side door, closely followed by the jurymen. The up to now silent audience started to whisper to each other and cough. The comments leaned on the direction that both of the prisoners would be hanged. There were many looks full of malicious pleasure directed at Anmir and Aodnait, who still stood in their booth like they were in an exhibition. The speculation died down, however, when the door opened again and the judiciary returned. The jurymen sat down, but the judge remained standing. He spoke in a clear, carrying voice:

"In the name of His Majesty the King: Accused Anmir, of Andrast and a super-cargo by alleged profession, you have been found guilty of conspiring a mutiny and armed robbery on open sea, murder and attempt of murder. You are condemned to die by hanging, until your soul leaves your body. Prepare yourself to face the eternity, for you are to be executed tomorrow morning. Do you have anything to say?"

Belhast looked at Anmir and saw that his face was hard as stone, betraying no emotion. His eyes were dark and empty, but his violently trembling hands told of the turmoil raging in his soul. At the question of the judge, he started a little. Then he spoke, trying to sound defiant and sarcastic:

"If you want to do me in, honoured judge, you of course have the power do it. I am but a helpless prisoner, condemned by false witnesses. But I say this: I may or may not have deserved death, but there are many more who deserve it more than I do."

The judge answered gravely:

"That may be, but today we are here to inspect your doings, not those of the others."

He turned towards Aodnait.

"In the name of the His Majesty the King: Accused Aodnait, of Tolfalas and a sailor by alleged profession, you have been found guilty of conspiring a mutiny and armed robbery on open sea under extenuating circumstances. This court holds in your favour the facts that you were opposed to using violence, that you were threatened by the other accused and that you confessed your deeds. Therefore, you are condemned for two years' hard labour in the towing boats of Gwathló, the first month of which you are to be fed with only bread and water. Do you have anything to say?"

Aodnait raised his face, and Belhast saw he was almost crying from joy and relief. The sailor bowed to the judge and only managed to whisper:

"Thank you."

There was a surprised murmur from the audience that lasted for a few moments. It was rare that mutineers got so lenient a verdict. Despite of that the mitigating circumstances had been mentioned, the audience was of opinion that Aodnait could consider himself very lucky. The judge silenced the hall by striking the floor with the end of his staff and raising his hand.

"The verdicts according King's Law have been pronounced. All who have ears to listen, take heed and beware doing ill! I declare this trial to be closed. Guards, you may take the condemned away."

Then he and the two jurymen walked away from the room with dignified steps. The guards did as they were told, and the audience noisily rose from their benches, streaming towards the door. Belhast and Finrosc waited with the crew and when the way was clear strode out of the courthouse. After the trial, the cool wind outside felt very refreshing. Belhast raised his head and breathed deeply.

------

They went to the ship, where Maegaer paid them their wages with a small bonus. After that he put his hands on his hips and spoke:

"Well, this is the last time we see. Unless you want to accept my offer?"

Belhast shook his head.

"Thanks, but no thanks. I think we both have got enough of a sailor's life. However, I wish everything good for you and your crew."

He offered his hand to the captain, who took it.

"Very well. And I wish all good to you two. Good bye, then!"

The brothers bade farewell to Maegaer and Jarl, and went to their lodgings. After they had eaten lunch they counted the money they had got once again. They had each received six silver pennies and thirteen coppers. For a sailor it was much, since for the poor folk that sum would last for many months. But to the duo it was indeed short of what they would need on their journey. But that didn't matter, since the starry cloak was still full of money and their purses were still relatively fat. Finrosc observed:

"Well, with this we should get a fine horse, and some silver will even be left over. Whatever comes, we won't suffer from hunger while we are still in Eriador."

"Yes, but that doesn't mean we can spread our money as carelessly as we did in this inn. I still think it's best to earn as much as we can by working."

Finrosc complied, and they put the silver in their purses. The rest of the day went by peacefully: Finrosc took a nap and then went out for a walk. He asked Belhast to come along, but the fortune-teller was more interested in the books on the shelf. He took one and sat in the chair, taking a comfortable position. He opened the worn and dusty volume and read the title: "The Sea Voyage of Wonders and Other Incredible Adventures of Gaerion the Curious As He Recounted Them To Anarfin the Scribe."

Belhast grinned.

"Let's see if this chap can beat our experiences."

He turned the leaf and in a few minutes he was far away, travelling with Gaerion the Curious in the Isles of the Green Men.

------

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	14. Chapter 14: To the Roads of North

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

Chapter 14: To the Roads of North

The next morning the brothers were awakened by the sounds of a servant lighting the fire in the parlour. Belhast looked out of the narrow window and saw the sun had barely risen. He yawned loudly and donned his travel-stained clothes. After a hasty washing of his hands and face he entered the parlour, closely followed by Finrosc. The servant was opening windows to air the rooms and seeing the duo to enter he said:

"Ah, good morning, masters!"

He rose and wiped his hands to his apron, which received a new stain in the process. Belhast still wondered if it was ever washed when the man continued:

"You have awoken just in time. There will be something worth of looking at if you open the windows."

"And what is that, then?"

"Oh, just an execution. They'll hang a mutineer, it is said. If you won't mind, I'd like to have a look from here, too."

Finrosc was evidently curious and his voice was a bit shocked when he asked:

"Do you execute criminals publicly here? That's not the custom of Gondor, there they'll snuff the life out of the prisoners quietly inside the prison walls."

"Oh, I forgot you were foreigners. It's only here in Tharbad, not in the rest of the kingdom. You know, when there's all the worst rabble from the ports of Gondor, Eriador and Southlands gathered here, they must make an example now and then. Otherwise the city would be just a big playground for robbers and such like."

The servant drew the faded curtains aside and opened the windows, leaning out from one of them.

"Oh, they haven't brought him yet. Well, it will be soon enough, I bet. If it doesn't bother you, good masters, I'll stay here and watch."

The brothers gave their assent and, driven by curiosity, took stations by the other window. Their gaze swept over the wide marketplace across the street. A wooden platform stood in the middle of it, and the scaffold cast its sinister shadow over it, waiting for its victim. The executioner was already waiting beside the scaffold. He was a gigantic, muscular man clad all in blood red clothes and bearing a butcher's knife on his side. A deep red hood covered his face, only his eyes showing through the holes made for the vision. He was languidly leaning his back against the scaffold and as far as Belhast could tell from the distance, examining his fingernails with minute care. Belhast shuddered at the sight of the man, since he knew that at least in Gondor executioners themselves were condemned criminals who had been given the option to choose that post as a 'pardon'. He wondered what could go on inside the head of a man whose job it was to kill. He arrived at the conclusion that probably the less one would think in such a situation, the better. His thoughts were interrupted by Finrosc nudging his ribs:

"Look! Doesn't that old gaffer look funny?"

He looked at the direction Finrosc pointed to and saw a man in a grey robe. He had a long, equally grey beard flowing down to his breast. But the features that arrested the attention of the fortune-teller were the high, pointed hat the man was wearing and his eyebrows. They were so long and bushy that Belhast had to smile.

"Seems that fellow is in a serious need of a barber. Why, he has so much hair in his face that I wonder he can see through it. And I wonder, too, why does he have that staff. He seems spry enough not to be in the need of a support."

The old man indeed seemed to be quite active despite of his years and the glance of his eyes was keen as he surveyed the gathering crowd before him. He asked something from a man who walked to the place, and seemed not to be too happy when he heard the answer. He shook his head in apparent disgust and walked away, with an annoyed air. He made his way through the hubbub of the marketplace, only his swaying hat showing where he strode. Then, having crossed the plaza, he disappeared in a side street and the brothers diverted their attention to the multitude of people who stood before their eyes, elbowing each other for room and chattering as excitedly as a circus audience expecting an entertaining show.

The crowd was indeed a lively sight, as the marketplace was gradually filled. Belhast saw faces and clothes of all descriptions, young and old, rich and poor, male and female. Some of the people even raised small children on their shoulders so that the youngsters could see better. What was the most appalling for Belhast, however, was the fact that amidst the standing crowd walked vendors with their trays, selling hot pies and sausages. Copper pennies exchanged owners and the pastries quickly disappeared down hungry throats, which instantly afterwards resumed trading remarks and jokes. Some of the audience had gathered in the corner of the plaza, around a juggler who performed his tricks with all the trappings of his profession. The air was more that of a festival than an execution, even as the noise of the wheels of a heavy carriage carrying the prisoner came from up the street.

The vehicle rolled nearer and the crowd divided to allow its passage. If Belhast expected the people to calm down and honour the solemnity of the occasion, he was disappointed. The houses around the marketplace echoed with a profound cheer rising from a thousand mouths, and all who were present strained their necks to see the face of the condemned. Belhast and Finrosc looked also in that direction, and were not surprised to see the glowering features of Anmir.

The former supercargo stood upright in the carriage, his hands and feet in heavy fetters. His face was formed in a grim sneer, but Belhast fancied he could see pallor and twitching of the corner of an eye that belied Anmir's real feelings. Four guardsmen watched over the mutineer, so he had no chance to escape.

The cart stopped right next to the platform and the corporal commanding the guards ascended the steps, carrying a scroll in his belt. He made a sign to the soldiers who instantly laid their hands on Anmir. The prisoner, however, shook free of them and Belhast heard him say:

"Keep your paws off me! I can well walk myself, there's no sense to carry me around like a newborn baby."

One of the soldiers replied:

"True enough. And besides, one never saw an uglier baby than you would make."

The soldiers allowed Anmir to climb down from the cart by himself, but kept their spears in readiness, surrounding the prisoner. When his feet touched the stones, Anmir straightened himself and looked silently upwards for a while. At length he was shaken from his thoughts, whatever they were, by a rude shove from one of the soldiers.

"Get moving, will you? We don't have all the day."

Anmir tried to smile.

"Ah, but I do have, and more besides. Eternity is a long time."

He then walked up the stairs, the chains on his ankles rattling and clinking. The soldiers pushed him next to the hangman, who instantly took him by the collar, tearing it open and baring his neck. The whole group then stood silently, waiting for the corporal's orders. The subaltern took the scroll from his belt and opened it, reading with an official air:

"By the orders of His Majesty the King: The villain, mutineer and murderer Anmir of Andrast has been condemned to die by hanging. People of Cardolan, take heed and beware lest you will fall under the penalty of law." He made a sign to the executioner.

"Let the justice be done."

The executioner dragged the unresisting Anmir under the scaffold and left him standing over a trapdoor. Then he took the noose and put it around Anmir's neck, tightening it with a handy manner that told this was no novelty to him. The corporal turned towards Anmir and asked:

"Prisoner, do you have any last words to say?"

Anmir spat on the corporal's boots.

"Can any words save me from death? Do your job, you filthy dogs, and let's get it over with!"

The corporal shrugged and curtly said to the executioner:

"Proceed."

The executioner obeyed and walked with slow steps behind the scaffold, where a lever stuck through the platform. He spat on his hands, rubbed them together and grasped the lever, placing his feet firmly apart. Belhast desperately wanted to look away, but stood like spellbound by the window, staring the scene with wide eyes and a pale face.

The soldiers banged their shields with their spears and the executioner pulled the lever with an evident effort. The trapdoor under Anmir opened with a loud creak and the prisoner fell. The noose tightened and Anmir let out a chilling cry that was cut short as the rope broke his neck. He gurgled for a moment horribly as he twitched and kicked for a few times. Then his struggles abruptly ceased, and he let his chin fall to his chest. All was over.

The corporal stepped to the edge of the platform, booming:

"This is the well deserved fate of all recreants and all who rise against their lawful masters! Murderer Anmir's body will hang here for three days, as a warning to all who have such designs. Go now to mind your peaceful business, and remember what you have seen."

The crowd dispersed to all directions, being obviously pleased by what they had witnessed. The life in great ports was at least occasionally so rough and violent that death was often regarded as not a very big deal. Even the voice of the corporal had betrayed that he had made the announcement as a required formality, not entertaining any belief that any of the audience would be daunted by it.

Belhast drew a long breath, swallowing with difficulty. He looked aside at Finrosc and saw that he had closed his eyes and had bit his jaws tightly together.

"Is it over?"

"Yes. It wasn't a pretty sight, I guarantee."

Finrosc opened his eyes and affected a careless laugh.

"Well, pretty or not, it's time for breakfast. Hey, man, what's on the menu?"

The servant closed the window, answering:

"Sausages with white bread, boiled eggs and Haradian coffee. If you follow me to the main hall, I'll prepare your table."

The duo complied and walked after the servant in the corridor. While descending the stairs, Belhast asked:

"Are these kinds of spectacles common here in Tharbad? I really can't say I liked it."

"Oh, there's perhaps one in two months or so. A pity this one wasn't nearly as fun as they usually are. Often they'll make quite a speech before they get their deserts. One would believe one was in a theatre, such speakers are some of them."

The brothers only grimaced at this and entered the hall, taking their seats.

------

After the breakfast they fetched their cloaks and went out to do their purchases. It was well over half an hour before they had crossed the bridge of Gwathló. They walked around until they saw a promising shop in a street next to the river. The shop sported a needle and roll of thread in its sign and over the door there was a text:

"We buy and sell used and new clothes, readymade or tailored."

Finrosc rubbed his hands.

"Splendid! I'm sick of these rags of mine. What if we got a new outfit straight away? It can't hurt us if we look like decent people while bargaining for our other gear."

Belhast assented and they entered the shop without further ado. The room where they stood was a mess of rolls of cloth, samples of fabrics and all kinds of garments lying in heaps on tables and the floor. A quick glance at them assured the duo, however, that the quality of the wares should be acceptable. While they still were examining the clothes before them, a lean, short man entered from an inner room. He quickly took a glance at the potential customers from head to toe, and then spoke in a little condescending tone:

"Good day, masters! Looking for clothes, eh? You've come to the right place. If you've got money, that is."

"Oh, that won't be a problem, believe me. We both need a complete outfit and it looks like we can well get it here," Belhast replied.

Three quarters of an hour later the brothers emerged on the street, but now someone who had seen them earlier that morning would have had trouble in recognizing them. Gone were the sealskin jackets and sheep furs. Instead, Belhast now wore a long jacket of blue wool and a brand new dark green cloak over his equally new trousers and tunic. There were almost no ornaments or embroidery in his garments, but at least they were well made, warm and comfortable. And that was all Belhast wanted. He adjusted the black, peaked cap on his head and looked at Finrosc. The bard had been somewhat more fanciful, and wore a red doublet with a deep blue cloak. There was some embroidery around the wrists and collar of the doublet, but instead of gold or silver, they were of normal bright green thread. A beret of imitated velvet crowned the suit. Belhast grumbled:

"You are such a show-off! Why didn't you choose something cheaper?"

"Oh, a little luxury now and then is the spice of life. Besides, this is an investment."

"How so?"

"The more handsome I look, the more my audience will be interested in my singing. Pleasing the eyes is for a bard almost as important as his voice. You have your mummery also."

Belhast saw he was going to lose the argument, so he changed the subject:

"Now that we are looking decent, what if we went and bought the horse?"

------

Tharbad had quite a few horse dealers, and it took two hours before the duo found one that seemed cheap enough. The owner, a stocky and ruddy man, jumped on them the instant they entered the front yard. He almost literally rolled out of a door, booming:

"Good day to you! What may be your business here? Whatever it is, I'm sure we can reach a mutually beneficial bargain."

"We are looking for a pack horse," began Belhast, but the dealer interrupted:

"A pack horse? We'll have some splendid beasts here, I assure you. Finest in the whole realm! Please follow me, and I'll show you a horse fit for the King's entourage!"

The fat man pushed himself between Belhast and Finrosc, and took their arms like they were his lifelong friends. Then he proceeded to drag the foster-brothers through an ill-kept stable to the back yard. Six horses stood or walked about there in a fenced closure, none of them too impressive-looking. The owner released the brothers and led a black horse out from the closure. He patted it proudly.

"Here is precisely the animal you want! Look what glossy hair, what bulging muscles! And just imagine it, only eight silver seven coppers!"

Finrosc cautiously approached the horse, which showed signs of bad temper by neighing and tossing its head. After some show of stubbornness it allowed Finrosc to open its mouth. Seeing nothing was amiss there, he stooped to examine the animal's legs. The dealer hastily said:

"Beware, it may kick you. I assure you, all is well with it. You shouldn't risk your skull, really."

Finrosc heeded not, but raised the legs one by one, taking a close look at them. After he was done, he rose and snorted:

"So _this_ is fit for the King? I never knew he likes half-crippled horses."

The dealer tried to protest, but Finrosc silenced him by tapping his chest with his finger, saying:

"You tried to fool the wrong man, old fellow. I was not raised on a farm in vain. That horse's ankles and hooves are badly infected and bad paint just makes it more obvious. Next time, try to disguise it better. I really have half a mind to turn you in to the guards."

The dealer loosed his collar, his face shining red with embarrassment. Finrosc went on:

"Well, but I think we could just forget this little… mistake. Show us something that can walk a few miles without collapsing, and maybe then we can make a deal."

The fat man nodded, relieved, and hurried to the enclosure, where he took the halter of a grey gelding. He led the beast before Finrosc, who examined it as closely as he had done to the previous one. Seeing there was nothing to complain about, and that the gelding looked quite robust and healthy, he smiled pleasantly.

"Now this is more like it! What's the price?"

"Seven and a half, if you please."

"What? Are you crazy, man? Five and not a penny more!"

After a heated bargaining the gelding changed owners for five silver pennies and seventeen coppers. With just one extra silver penny the brothers got a new and durable packsaddle and bridle, too. Belhast took the bridle and the duo led their new companion to the front gate. There Belhast abruptly turned and asked the dealer:

"By the way, what's his name? I'd like to know how to call him."

"Nah, you can call him whatever you want. He has good manners, but is likely too dumb to recognize any name you give him."

Finrosc grinned.

"So he's a dummy? Actually, for some reason I like the sound of that." He patted the animal. "So, my friend, Dummy you are from now on."

------

At late afternoon they finally had done their shopping and headed for The Broken Jug. The saddle packs bulged full and the backpacks on the brothers' backs were also stocked with provisions. Even short swords hung now from their belts, since the smith from whom they had bought tools had warned them about brigands who reputedly preyed on travellers. Finrosc and Belhast, recognizing a good selling speech when they heard it, had taken this with a large grain of salt, but had nonetheless bought the weapons. "Better safe than sorry", as Belhast had put it.

They went early to bed, eager to be on their way the next morning. After an abundant breakfast they gave the servant a little tip money and walked out of the inn, followed by many humble "thank-you"s, servile bows and fervent wishes that they would come again at some time. After a few minutes more they stood on the street, leading Dummy, who didn't seem to mind his name at all. They looked at the scaffold, where Anmir still hung, and grimaced.

"It's a relief in itself not to have to look at him again, isn't it?" said Belhast.

"Yeah, he was not too beautiful when living, much less now. Why, I never thought I could pity him in the least. Not that I'm shedding bitter tears for him, but still…" Finrosc adjusted his pack on his shoulders.

"Well, let's get going. I think we'll do well enough if we cover twenty miles today, don't you think?"

"Yes, it's not good to get winded this early. It's a long time until spring."

With that, they walked down the street, Dummy following them with a calm air. In an hour they arrived at the great northern gate of Tharbad. The guards let them through without any questions; in fact they hardly glanced at the two travellers. They leisurely strode through the high, ornate archway and stopped for a moment only to tighten their belts. The roads of North spread before them, running over faraway hills, beyond the clouded horizon.

------

Twenty miles had indeed been a good estimate, since by the sunset they had travelled scarcely so much. A heavy snowfall had started just before noon and at evening it was more than ankle-deep. Cursing and grumbling had Belhast and Finrosc drudged along the road. The only one enjoying the walking was the gelding. The dealer obviously hadn't bothered to ensure that his horses got enough exercise, and after an hour of fresh air and leisure gait Dummy was much more alert and sharp. In fact, it would have broken to a trot if Belhast wouldn't have stopped it short by a sharp tug of the bridle. After this check it behaved well enough and ate with good appetite every time they stopped. Finrosc and Belhast could congratulate themselves for a good finding.

The eastern sky was already turning dark grey and blue when the weary travellers set up their camp. Belhast arranged the tent canvas with a few poles so that it became a shelter open at one side. Meanwhile, Finrosc gathered branches and dead wood for a fire, and after that took a kettle to get some snow. He was in this duty when Belhast was finishing with the tent. The latter made sure their shelter was steady and that the fire was well lit. Then he sat down on the fir branches he had spread on the bottom. He leisurely kicked some snow to the air.

"Roscy, do you remember what we used to do at days like this when we were little?"

Finrosc turned his head slightly, laughing a little.

"Oh, yes. How could I forget my triumphs in those snow-fights?"

Belhast answered with a grin:

"Now, now, if I remember right, it was me who usually beat you."

"Want to prove that?"

Finrosc had now his most sly smile, and Belhast was nonplussed for a moment:

"Huh?"

Even if he would, he couldn't say anything else before a big snowball hit him on the face. He wiped his face, angrily exclaiming:

"Stop it, you idiot! Are you mad?"

Finrosc waved his forefinger at him, and said in an annoying sing-song voice, stretching every word:

"You are a yellow-liver coward! Nah-nah-nah! A lousy coward who can't pay back!"

Belhast's annoyance vanished when he heard the old dare they had used much twenty years ago. He rolled some snow in his gloved hands, and a sparkle flashed in his eyes.

"Oh, really? We'll see about that soon!"

He tossed the snowball and hit Finrosc squarely in the nose. That was the signal to an all-out snow-fight. For some time they threw and dodged snowballs, laughing like madmen. Belhast didn't remember when had been the last time he had had so much fun. The sheer idiocy and childishness of the whole thing was just too tempting, so refreshing after all the hardships they had seen. The valiant battle came to a crisis when a well-aimed snowball thrown by Belhast hit Finrosc directly between the eyes, blinding him for a moment. The bard shook his head like a wet dog, exclaiming between bursts of laughter:

"You begged for it! Now I'll show you!"

He sprang towards Belhast who had no option but to strike his colours and turn to flee. He was too slow, however, and Finrosc easily tackled him to ground. Belhast tried to rise, but Finrosc took him by collar with his right hand, grasping some snow in his left.

"Let's wash that dirty face of yours, shall we?"

He was about to rub the snow to Belhast's face, but started suddenly and rose abruptly. Belhast did the same and they turned simultaneously towards the road. They heard again the sound that had alerted them: A high-pitched, loud laughter coming from amidst the darkness and the falling snow. Even as they strained their eyes to see who it was, the laughter echoed for the third time and a cloaked figure stepped in the circle of light.

------

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	15. Chapter 15: Good Runes And Hole Dwellers

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

Chapter 15: Good Runes And Hole-Dwellers

The brothers still blinked from surprise when the stranger stepped nearer and lowered the hood of the wide, brown cloak. It revealed a woman's face, smiling and pleasant. She was certainly attractive in Belhast's eyes with her narrow face, straight nose and large blue eyes that glittered with merriment in the firelight. Perhaps she wouldn't have created a sensation among the beauties of Gondor or Arthedain, but there was something cheerful and pleasant in her whole countenance that made an impression on Belhast. As far as he could tell, she was about twenty-five, take or add a year or two. She laughed once more, now more guardedly and spoke with a slight accent in her westron:

"Good evening to you, dear masters! I am sorry to interrupt your deadly duel, but is there room by your fire? I am quite cold, tired and hungry and this looks like a place where I could rest."

A broad smile spread on Finrosc's face.

"Ah, of course! We have nothing against it." He poked Belhast.

"Or have we, buddy?"

Belhast was more reserved, but said a bit gruffly:

"You are welcome to spend the night here, we don't own this place. Feel free to use the fire if you want to cook something."

The woman smiled and walked nearer the fire, where she put down the sack she was carrying on her back. When she bent to do that, Finrosc eyed her frame approvingly. Belhast had to admit there was some reason to it, too. The stranger was quite tall for a woman, even though she still was perhaps two or three inches shorter than Finrosc. When she threw her cloak back to allow herself to use her hands, Belhast saw that her build was slender and graceful, even though her shoulders were a bit too broad to be beautiful. There was something in her movements and general appearance that told Belhast of a wiry strength. He could not tell what he should think of her. She was amiable enough, but due to circumstances, Belhast wasn't too delighted to meet her. He hoped she would go on her way as soon as the sun rose. He gave Finrosc a grave look as a warning, but the latter just grinned.

The woman took a kettle out of her sack and started to melt some snow in it. The brothers did the same, and for a moment they all sat around the fire without speaking. At length Belhast raised his face to look at the newcomer and cordially asked:

"So, may we ask your name, young mistress? And we would also like to know how you have ended up here in the middle of a snowstorm?"

The woman smiled and replied:

"Well, my name is Gothsruna, but you may call me Gutrune as everybody else here in Eriador does. As for why I am here, I am travelling northwards. Too bad I took off an hour or two too late, and couldn't reach the village where I planned to rest. But who are you, then, and where are you heading? I think I saw your traces on the road, in some places where the snow hadn't had time to cover them."

"Yes, we left Tharbad this morning, and our going hasn't been too easy." Belhast hesitated a moment before he went on:

"My name is Beleg, and this here is my friend Roscion."

He stopped there, hoping that Gutrune wouldn't stop her inquiries. She was evidently intrigued when she leaned forward:

"Ah, so you are going to north, too! Where exactly, if I may ask? Bree? Fornost?"

Belhast still thought about what he should answer, when Finrosc spoke to Belhast's chagrin:

"Neither. We have heard about this new town in the Wilderness, Esgaroth they call it. I and my friend think we could find jobs and make good money there."

Gutrune's face lit with a bright smile.

"Why, it's exactly where I am heading, too! My cousin asked me if I could come there to help her in her work, for a living and a pay of course. And to tell the truth, I'm already sick of Eriador. I'm one of the Northmen and it's a delight to return to a land where I can hear my tongue. But really, it's a very good luck I met you two. Perhaps we could travel together for at least some time."

Finrosc instantly replied, but at a small sign from Belhast understood not to touch her last remark.

"So now we know why your real name, begging your pardon, is such a tongue-cleaver. But you are well named, certainly. I read good runes whenever I look in your eyes."

Gutrune blushed a little at this gallantry, but was fast to reply:

"Your parents gave you a fit name, too. Why, your hair is as brown as a field in early spring."

"And your locks remind me of the golden wheat waving in the wind in harvest-time. Your eyes, too, are like a lovely pair of cornflowers. I could make a dozen songs of them."

Gutrune laughed, evidently flattered. At this point Belhast, although amused by this banter, decided to intervene.

"Excuse me if I am rude, Gutrune, but why you are so fearless and unreserved? Aren't you afraid that we might be highwaymen?"

Gutrune waved her hand dismissively.

"Oh, I have little enough to be robbed of. Besides, if you were robbers, there never was a pair more amateurish than you two. No brigand would build so big a fire. In fact, I saw it a quarter of a mile away, despite the snow. And I highly doubt two murderous outlaws would play in the snow like little boys."

Belhast was a little piqued, and retorted:

"But how do you know we won't do anything to you, even if we weren't brigands? You, after all, are a lonely woman and we are grown, strong men."

If Belhast intended to frighten her, he signally failed. Gutrune only stifled a laughter with some little difficulty before speaking.

"Oh, I've had to depend on my own resources long enough to know whom I should fear and whom not. Because of my work I know men and women from head to toe, I might say. Whatever you are, you are not the kind of men who would do violence to a woman. All in you speaks otherwise. And even if you tried something, you wouldn't find me an easy prey."

As she spoke, she fingered her travel staff. Belhast took a look at it and saw that it was shod with iron at both ends and that in skilful hands it would well serve as an effective weapon. He shrugged, content to drop the subject. Finrosc continued the discussion:

"You mentioned your work. What exactly it is?"

"I'm a travelling healer. I know many helpful herbs and cures both for men and beasts. And when asked, I can try to look in the future with the aid of runes."

Finrosc grinned.

"Ah, then you are a competitor to my friend here. He's a fortune-teller, too. Only, he uses cards."

Gutrune shifted her gaze to Belhast, who bit his lip in slight embarrassment.

"Really? Perhaps you could foretell my future, then. It would be a pleasure to learn a new method."

Belhast's voice was evasive:

"Maybe tomorrow. Today it's too cold and dark and we all are tired. Besides, one doesn't learn my trade in a day."

The talk died down for a moment. But then Belhast abruptly rose.

"Roscy, come and help me to fetch the food for dinner."

Finrosc didn't quite take the hint:

"Why? You are perfectly capable to carry it for yourself."

Belhast's reply was accompanied by a very meaning look.

"Yes, but aren't your blankets still in the saddle-pack?"

"Oh, right… Well, then, let's go."

They walked to tree against which the saddle-packs leaned and opened them. While searching for food, Belhast spoke in a low tone:

"Roscy, keep your head calm and your mouth shut! If she wants to join us, we'll give her a slip, and that's the long and short of it."

"Why? She's very friendly and nice."

"Must I remind you we are on a secret quest, not a pleasure walk? We don't need company."

Finrosc snorted.

"You are too timid, you always were! What harm can she do? And just look at her body!"

Belhast shot a furious glance at Finrosc, tapping his forehead.

"Think more with your head and less with your cock, curse it! You messing around with some unknown woman is the last thing we need now."

"Ha! You are just jealous because you are so bad with ladies. Who did almost marry that shrew of a barmaid? Huh?"

That was a home thrust and Belhast felt it. He indeed had had an affair of two years with a barmaid from Minas Anor. Her temper had been so stormy that Belhast still remembered the bruises he had got from flying plates and broom handles. Therefore, his answer was icy:

"You know why I left her. And jealous or not, I'm right." His voice changed to almost pleading: "Can't you see it? After we're back, you can fool around with anyone you want, but now we need secrecy and prudence. Listen to me for just this once!"

Finrosc seemed now to regret his words and his tone was softer when he said:

"Very well, let's do what you say. We'll rise very early and get going. And leave her to find we are gone when she awakes, right?" He sighed.

"A pity, really."

Without any further discussion they returned to the fire, where Gutrune already stirred her soup kettle, and settled on making their dinner. After they had eaten, the Northwoman set up her little shelter opposite that of the brothers, and all parties retired for the night.

------

When Belhast awoke, it was still dark. For a few minutes he hovered in that pleasant place which lies between sleep and wakefulness, but at length a soft sound invaded his slumber. What was it? It couldn't possibly be… But when Belhast hauled himself to a sitting position, he realized that he indeed had heard a feminine voice humming a tune. Gutrune was kneeling before the newly lit fire, and her long, blond braid moved slightly as she obviously worked on something. Hearing the rustle of cloth behind her, she turned her head and greeted Belhast with a voice devoid of any tiredness:

"Good morning! Did I wake you up? If so, I'm terribly sorry. I'm such an awfully early riser, really."

Belhast muttered something along the lines of "it's all right" and clambered from the shelter, where Finrosc still remained snoring. He stretched his limbs and uttered a loud yawn. Then he sat by the fire, being still too drowsy to say anything meaningful. Gutrune offered him a wooden cup.

"Tea? It warms nicely in mornings like this."

Belhast looked closely at her, wondering why she was so friendly. But there was nothing in her tone or expression to rouse suspicions. Most probably she just was like that by nature. And those who were always on the road to make their living often were very straightforward and helpful to even strangers, since they knew the value of even small kindnesses. Belhast still was a bit annoyed that they had to trust Gutrune for at least a day more, but the smell of steaming tea melted his feelings. His smile was genuine when he took the cup.

"Yes, that's a good idea. Thank you."

------

An hour and a half later they were ready to depart. Finrosc had been more pleased than he dared to show when he learned Gutrune would accompany them for that day at least. The sun had not risen yet, but the clouds had cleared during the night and they saw well enough in the pale light of the stars and the setting moon. They wouldn't have to worry about snow that day. The temperature was a little below freezing and Belhast found the crisp air very refreshing. He led Dummy, lost in his thoughts, while Gutrune and Finrosc walked ahead him conversing pleasantly.

In time the sun slowly climbed above the horizon, painting the sky with fantastic colours while illuminating the road and the surrounding woods with a light that seemed all too sharp. The road led them ever northwest, curving towards the distant crossroads where it divided in two. After some time the travellers journeyed past the village Gutrune had spoken of. They saw the peasants were just waking up to the little chores they had in this time of year. Belhast knew that the winter was the easiest season for peasants when it came to working, and experienced a pang of jealousy when he saw how lazily the worthy farmers stretched their limbs on their doorsteps or sauntered to stables and cowsheds. Without realizing it, he spoke his thoughts aloud:

"Those lucky bastards, they at least have a roof over their heads."

Gutrune turned to him.

"Yes, but I'd imagine staring at that same roof over years can get very boring. Don't you feel the same, since you are on the road also?"

Belhast let out a sigh.

"Ah, this is only out of sheer necessity. Now I wish I still had that lousy house I used to live in."

Then he realized he had said something he hadn't planned to, and fell awkwardly silent again. Inside his head, however, he wondered if he was too paranoid. How could it possibly be harmful to speak of his old home? Still, the less Gutrune knew of him and Finrosc, the better. He was still debating this within himself when they stopped at a farm to buy feed for Dummy.

------

At late afternoon, when the sky was already dimming, they came to a crossroads. A narrow but well-worn track running from east joined there to the main road. In the slight cover of snow they saw traces of cartwheels running down the track. After a brief discussion they decided to ask for a night's food and shelter from whatever house they would find at the end of the track. The decision was sealed when Gutrune glanced at a tree next to the cart track and exclaimed:

"Look! If that's not a good sign, I don't know what is."

The others looked also at the tree and saw that a picture had been crudely carved in its bark. It depicted a hand holding a piece of bread on its palm. Such signs were not unknown in Gondor, and Belhast had no problem to divine its meaning: They could expect a hospitable house. Vagabonds, beggars, travelling labourers and such used these means to signal to each other various things, which was a definite advantage. Without the signs a stranger could be hopelessly ignorant of his surroundings, but now one could know ahead when to expect, say, a dangerous ford, or which houses were best to visit. Most of these carvings were simple and obvious, but some were known only by certain groups, such as brigands. The custom was age-old and no one knew where and when it had started, but still many travellers chose to help even strangers that way. After all, it cost one nothing and took only a few moments to accomplish.

Accordingly, Finrosc traced the weatherworn carving deeper with his knife, after which they all turned to the alley. It was perhaps five hundred yards long, winding through bushes and trees. The trio walked fast, encouraged by the thought of a supper and warm sleep under a roof. In a few minutes, therefore, they arrived at a clearing at the eastern end of which rose a steep slope. At first they were stunned, since the only building they could see was a small stable. At the second looking, however, they noticed a round door and two equally round windows closed with shutters, all dug into the hillside. Belhast exclaimed:

"Now this is strange! Who in his right mind would build such a home?"

They also noticed that the cart standing on the clearing was of same fashion but much smaller than those usually used at farmsteads. Gutrune, whose brow had furrowed from confusion, suddenly laughed aloud.

"Of course! He must be one of the grôba-bauan, 'holbytlan' or halflings as they are called in your tongue. They left our land many lives of men ago. Why, no one knows for sure. Many of them moved here, it is said, but relatively few of them live anywhere near us Men."

"And what are they, then?"

"Oh, you'll see. We get well fed if nothing else, if the tales about them are true. Let's wait."

The men complied, since they really hadn't any better idea. It was not long before the door of the stable swung open, and a person walked outside. Later Belhast often remembered the surprise he got: The person was almost child-like in his height and frame, being only about three feet nine inches tall. But despite of that his face was that of a middle-aged man and there was nothing childish in his movements. He walked barefoot without any sign of discomfort and the feet protruding from his pant legs were covered with thick hair. The little man eyed the travellers closely for quite a time, all the while running his fingers through his curly, red-brown hair. He sneezed, wiped his nose to his sleeve and then asked bluntly:

"And who may you be, if you please? Visitors are quite welcome, but only if they be honest good folks."

Since the men were still dumbstruck, Gutrune had to answer:

"We are just poor travellers going north, my good master. We would be grateful if you allowed us to sleep here. Even the stable is good enough, if there's no other place. We are not demanding. We can pay for the lodgings and any food you could spare for us. If anyone in your house is sick, I will cure him."

Finrosc who had by now recovered, eagerly joined in:

"And if not, I can entertain your household with the latest ballads from Gondor. And Beleg here can tell you your future to boot."

The halfling pondered for a moment and gave them a good-natured smile to them all and particularly to Finrosc.

"Oh, I guess you could come in. My name isn't Sigebert Took if I don't like a good song over a tankard of ale. But mind you that you don't sing anything too outlandish. We like to stick to what we know, we do." Then he turned towards Gutrune:

"As for you, thanks for your offer. My wife has caught a stubborn cold, she sneezes and coughs all the time, poor thing. If you could give her anything to fix that, we'd be grateful." Then to Belhast:

"A magician, eh? Well, I must admit I could use a little peep into the future, even if shows just the same as always. I'll be all the happier if I know that much."

Then, chuckling to his own jest, Sigebert led Dummy into the stable. When he returned he signed the Men to follow and opened the curious door, going inside. The travellers followed, Finrosc knocking his head against the low doorframe in the process.

------

Once inside, Belhast took a curious look around him. The hall they entered was quite strange, as it was practically a long, round tube, on the sides of which round doors opened to various rooms. Otherwise, it looked much like an entrance of a wealthy farm, the walls being lined with heavy planks with some ornamental engravings on them. Sigebert hung his cloak and jacket on a coatrack and then bellowed:

"Friderike! Friderike, we have guests!"

"Coming!" was the answer.

And true enough, a door opened and the smallest woman Belhast had ever seen, even shorter than her husband Sigebert, walked into the hall. She was plump and ruddy in a healthy and homely way that made Belhast immediately feel more at ease. She was sneezing as she walked, however, and her greeting was uttered in a subdued tone.

"Pleased to meet, I am sure. I'd shake your hands, but I guess you don't want to catch whatever I've got. You chose a good time, since my oldest daughter is already making dinner."

The trio expressed their humble thanks and after briefly introducing themselves they were ushered in the kitchen, where a long table was already laden with food and drink. Sigebert proudly introduced his children: the sons being named Ragenfrid, Sigebert the younger and Grimoald and the daughters, Adalfreda and Gunnhilde. Then all sat at the table and a long, filling and absolutely delightful dinner ensued. After the long walk in the cold Belhast found the combination of warmth, ale and abundant food to make him comfortably drowsy. He hoped that they could get soon to sleep.

But no such luck happened. After the table was cleared Gutrune took her assortment of medicines and chose an herb that she promised to be the best cure against flu. She brewed tea with it and made Friderike drink the mixture, promising she would feel much better in the morning. Then Sigebert led the way to a hall in the far end of the hole. All except Finrosc took benches and the bard started his show, standing in the middle of the room. One longish lay about the deeds of King Romendacil, followed by one humorous and one romantic ballad made Sigebert and Friderike clap their hands and expressing their approval by making the singer to down a tankard of beer. The children were not forgotten, either: Finrosc made them laugh with a few humorous and witty pieces, in the choruses of which Belhast joined, being familiar with his brother's repertoire.

With all this entertainment the evening went by fast, and the sun had long been absent when Sigebert asked Belhast "to do his tricks" as he put it. When he had arranged the cards for Sigebert, Belhast wondered for a while what to say. It was the most uneventful, if homely, set of cards he had ever seen. So Belhast congratulated the halfling that his domestic happiness would go on uninterrupted for quite long to the foreseeable future. Sigebert didn't look disappointed for lack of adventure, though, but just laughed.

"As I said, it's as it should be. No adventures for me, thank you very much! I'm already too old and set for that sort of thing." He winked and his round, wrinkled face took an expression that made Belhast smile. The halfling leaned forward and confided to Belhast in a low tone:

"Ah, there was a time when I considered running away to see the wide world, there was. But then I met my Friderike, and in the end she was all the adventure I could long for."

The rest of the family got their predictions, too, which weren't too impressive, either. There were the usual promises of future bridegrooms (even though Belhast didn't even know if there lived any more halflings nearby) to the girls and warnings to the boys against doing too many pranks. Then all was done, and the halfling girls prepared makeshift beds for the travellers. Gutrune bade the men good night and retired to the kitchen where she intended to sleep. The brothers lay down on the blankets on the floor and sighed in contentment. Before they closed their eyes, Belhast heard Finrosc's voice in the darkness:

"So, what do you think of her?"

Belhast pondered for a moment.

"Gutrune? I don't know. Time will show. But I guess we could have worse company for the time being." He yawned.

"Good night."

"Good night."

After a few moments they already slept, low snoring and heavy breathing being the only sounds to break the silence of the room.

------

Read and review, please. I'm not wholly sure about it, so I'd be pleased if someone could tell me if the hobbits appear to be hobbit-like enough (disregarding their relative lack of suspicion; after all, at the period of this story they had quite much dealings with Men).

Gothsruna in Gothic=Gutrune in German="Good Runes" in English. The term grôba-bauan is my own construction made with the aid of an online Gothic dictionary. It's the literal translation of the term "holbytlan" in LotR. Since Tolkien used ancient Gothic names for the Northmen of this period, I also have used Gothic as the substitute for their language.

Roscion="Brown" in Sindarin.

As for the signs cut into trees, similar ones were quite widely used in Central and especially Northern Europe from the early Middle Ages to the 18th Century. They were not unknown in other parts of the continent, either. I thought the concept would fit well into the medieval atmosphere of Middle-Earth.


	16. Chapter 16: Overreacting Over Mead

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

Chapter 16: Overreacting Over Mead

The morning came and the travellers took their departure. Mistress Friderike woke them up shortly before sunrise, and Belhast noticed she was sneezing less and her eyes were less red than the night before. In the breakfast table Sigebert told the trio all he knew of lands ahead. His knowledge, however, stopped altogether after the distance of some fifty miles. His descriptions of villages and farmsteads inside that area, however, were very welcome to the travellers, since none of them had been this far north before. Even Gutrune said that she had travelled mostly between the Tharbad and the villages of southern Minhiriath.

After eating Belhast, Finrosc and Gutrune bid farewell to their hosts and set off. After saddling Dummy they exited the stable, only to see all the five children had came to the yard to watch their departure. They begged Finrosc to sing one song more, since "daddy says listening music is an education in itself" as Ragenfrid told him. Laughing, Finrosc complied, and he sang a little piece that ended:

So farewell for now,

My friends and foes!

I really have to go,

With thanks and bows.

The long road now calls,

Whither, I cannot say.

Many a step today falls

Before rest again I may.

With that, they walked along the alley and continued their journey.

------

The weather was still good, and they covered quite a distance even before noon. Only a few clouds slowly drifted over the high, blue sky and the air was very still. The sun, however, didn't warm at this time of the year and in its harsh light all seemed to be all the colder. Consequently, the travellers kept their cloaks wrapped well around them.

Their mood was very good on this morning, the morning tea and food still warming them. They walked all abreast, trading jokes, songs and stories with each other. Belhast was still of the mind that he and Finrosc should get rid of Gutrune, but slowly began to think there was no particular hurry. The Northwoman was delightful company, after all, and posed no apparent risk. Most of the long leagues of Eriador still ahead, there would be enough opportunities to give her a slip. Belhast's only worry was that Finrosc seemed to be more and more enthusiastic about their new companion. Women had always been his greatest weakness, but Belhast knew Finrosc could control his impulses well enough if he had to. Otherwise he would have been dead or in jail long ago.

The day went by without an incident, and at nightfall the trio arrived at a big village, where they speedily found the local inn. Finrosc's promise to entertain the guests for the evening was a sufficient payment to the landlord for the rooms and the dinner they ordered was cheap enough, so there was nothing special to complain about. After eating and hauling his pack to his and Finrosc's room Belhast donned his 'magic cloak' and descended to the hall, in order to earn some pennies from the gullible patrons of the inn. While Finrosc played his lute and sang in the far end of the hall Belhast wandered among the patrons, inquiring from each if they were interested in hearing their coming fortunes.

Already the second man he asked wanted to know his future. Before sitting down and starting his prediction Belhast took a close look at the customer, as was his custom. The man was in his late middle years, a burly and ruddy farmer, most probably married and well-to-do. In a moment Belhast was satisfied that he could fabricate a convincing story if the cards wouldn't be too interesting or clear in their meaning. He was still shuffling the cards when Gutrune walked behind him, a full tankard of mead in her hand.

"May I watch?"

Belhast looked inquiringly to his customer, who shrugged:

"I bet there's no great secrets to be learned."

Along the way Belhast and Gutrune had talked much about their respective foretelling methods, and Belhast understood her interest very well. He, for his part, had been very fascinated by the tossing and reading of runes that Gutrune had described. Therefore, he replied:

"By all means. But you must allow me to take a look, too, next time you use your runes."

Gutrune nodded and Belhast turned again towards the farmer. He searched for and found the symbol card of the man, the king of swords being the closest. After he had set it before the customer he dealt the three rows of cards and glanced at them. The combination was about as little dramatic as Belhast had expected. There was one point of interest, though, that didn't escape Belhast's attention:

"The cards have spoken, and Fate chooses to smile on you for the time being. But only if you are careful and discerning. See, you will meet a red- or brown-haired man in near future. You will be wise to watch out, since he hasn't good intentions towards you."

The farmer leaned forward, his voice serious but a little sceptical:

"But who could want to hurt me? I have done no wrong to anyone as far as I remember."

Belhast studied the combination again.

"It is not your life or limb that he's after for. Look at this group, it tells he will be a danger for your purse and perhaps your good name. With a glib tongue and empty promises he will try to trick you into something you would regret later. I see a judge and a trial, so perhaps he will try to sell you stolen wares or something similar. I cannot be wholly sure, however. Whatever it is, you will be sorry to accept his offer."

The farmer's face assumed an expression that told Belhast his words had made an impression. The farmer rose, thanked Belhast and paid the fee. After that he rose and walked away, and Belhast started to collect his cards. Gutrune observed:

"It looks more complicated than I first thought with all those rows and combinations. How are you able you read the meaning so fast?"

The subject being devoid of any dangers, Belhast was only too happy to explain:

"Oh, I have done this for a living for a few years already. Certain meanings are so usual that after the first two months or so you know them almost without looking. As for the others, they are simple enough to see when you have some experience. There's only so much ways you can read a combination, and when you observe the customer you almost always know the right one. A simple matter of experience, imagination and knowledge of people, really."

"I see. It's very int… Watch your steps, man!"

The last remark, delivered in an annoyed tone, was directed to a young lad who passed by her with unsteady steps. He had evidently had his share of ale since he staggered badly and bumped into Gutrune in the process. The contact made her reel, in her turn, against Belhast. Most of the mead spilled out of the tankard she was holding, soaking Belhast. He uttered a curse, springing on his feet and trying to wipe the liquid from his cloak. Gutrune, thoroughly embarrassed, started to chatter:

"Oh, no, now look at you! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to do that."

Belhast paid little heed to this and only muttered darkly when he slid the wet cloak from his shoulders, in order to twist it dry. Gutrune, however, neatly took it from his hands.

"There now, I can take it. It was I who stained it, so it's I who should dry it, too." She turned the garment in her hands, looking at it with a frown.

"In fact, I think I'll wash it. Mead is so sticky when it dries. Wait here, and I'll go and take care of this."

A flood of sudden, irrational suspicion flooded Belhast, who was still irritated, surprised and a little shaken. Perhaps it was because of his constant worry about the money sewn inside the garment, perhaps just out of fright he had got. Whatever was the reason, something snapped inside him and he rudely snatched the cloak from Gutrune, yelling:

"You take your hands off it, you hear!? Give it back this instant!"

His anger, however, vanished as soon as it had came when he looked at Gutrune. Her eyes were wide from fright and confusion and her mouth hung half open. Blood mounted Belhast's cheeks when he looked around and saw half of the people in the hall were staring at him. Gutrune stepped back and spoke with an angry voice that told Belhast he had hurt her feelings:

"I didn't mean to offend you, for Valar's sake! Why are you like that? I just wanted to make an apology, not steal your cloak." She wrinkled her nose disdainfully.

"Not that I would even want to do that. It's about as ugly a thing as I have ever seen."

Belhast bit his lips, deeply ashamed. He cursed himself for overreacting like that, but it couldn't be helped anymore. He saw only one way to save the situation. With a sheepish laugh he stammered:

"I – I don't know why I did that. It's just… I didn't expect to get a shower." He paused to grin feebly.

"And the cloak, well, I don't allow anyone else to handle it. I've this strange superstition, I have used that cloak for years, and now it feels like it was almost a part of me, so to speak. You understand what I'm speaking of, right?"

Gutrune furrowed her brow, but Belhast could tell her anger was subsiding. He went on:

"I am really sorry I flipped like that. I don't know what came over me. It was kind of you to offer to wash this old rag here, but I really can do that myself. Let's forget the whole thing, shall we?"

He offered his hand to Gutrune, who first took it hesitantly, but then gripped it firmly. She flashed a smile, perhaps still a little uncertain, but genuine nonetheless.

"Yes, let's do that. Next time I'll be more careful with my drink."

Belhast nodded and walked from the hall, ascending to his room. Once there, he filled the washbasin and washed the cloak. When he hung it to dry, he felt for the coins in the lining and was satisfied that Gutrune couldn't possibly have detected them. He was relieved at first, but frowned then. Had she noticed how heavy the cloak was compared to its size? He humphed. There had been scarcely two heartbeats from the moment Gutrune had taken the cloak to when it was again in Belhast's hands. It was extremely improbable she could suspect something, save because of Belhast's stupid reaction. And she had seemingly taken his explanation at the face value.

He told himself that worrying was useless and laid down on his bed. He crossed his hands behind his head and relaxed. After the incident he didn't feel like working any more that night (partly because half of his credibility and charm was still dripping water on the coatrack). Besides, the day had been long. He closed his eyes and was soon fast asleep.

He was awakened when Finrosc came in two hours later. Seeing him rise a little, the latter said:

"You made a pretty scene down there, I must say. Gutrune was a little out of sorts for quite a while."

"I hope she isn't angry anymore."

"Oh, no, she told me to say once more to you that she's terribly sorry. But to change the subject, do you think the money is safe?"

"Absolutely. She has not a clue."

"Good."

------

The next day was just like the previous one, and their going was good for the first few hours. Belhast found that by now he had accustomed well to the walking and that it was actually quite enjoyable in days like this. His mood was all the better since Gutrune didn't seem to hold a grudge against him. She had been quite reserved at first, but after a few miles' travelling was like nothing had happened the night before. The weather was still clear, and they could see far ahead wherever the road climbed to a hilltop. There were few other travellers, save some farmers taking their wares to a market or a few vagabonds and workmen in search of a free meal and lodgings.

Two hours after noon they came across a farmer who offered to give them a ride to the next village on his cart. The travellers eagerly agreed, and after a few moments they already sat on the high pile of hay. Dummy had eyed suspiciously the large horses pulling the cart, but had assented to being tied in the back of the vehicle without too much fuss. After eating the dried apple Belhast had given him, he walked behind the cart with a supremely indifferent air.

By this manner they managed to cover somewhat more than thirty miles that day. By nightfall they arrived at a prosperous farmstead, where they asked for the night's sleep. The farmer, however, spread his hands regretfully and said:

"I could lodge you otherwise, but there are some of my kinsmen visiting me at the moment. There's no room, and I can't spare even the stable for you, begging your pardon."

Belhast was crestfallen, but Finrosc inquired:

"Isn't there even a barn or something like that? We have tents, yes, but they aren't exactly my idea of comfort. The nights are damnably cold."

The farmer stroked his chin, and replied hesitantly:

"Well, perhaps there is a place where you can stay. But you mustn't accuse me if anything unusual happens."

"Unusual? What do you mean?"

The man pointed towards a nearby strip of woods.

"There's a pond in a wide hollow, down there in the forest, and there's a little cabin on the shore of it. My family owns it, but it hasn't been much used for years. It should be in good condition, though."

Finrosc was curious:

"If I may ask it, good master, why didn't you tell us about it straight away? It sounds like an ideal place. For us it would be more than we could expect and we wouldn't be in your way."

The farmer lowered his voice.

"Yes, but the fact is that the pond is haunted."

Belhast broke in:

"Haunted? I thought that like of thing belongs to the fairy tales."

"No, it is quite real, I assure you. May I tell you the tale briefly?"

The trio assented and the man spoke:

"They say that this happened close to a hundred years ago, when my grand-grandfather was young. There were two brothers who lived in that cabin. They were poor and lived by fishing in the pond and by doing odd jobs now and then. But they loved each other, since they were the only ones left from their whole family. Also, they were twins and as alike as two berries are. People used to say they were one soul in two bodies. I don't know if that's true, but they were about as close as any brothers could be. They had even sworn that they would never be separated from each other. But one winter a disease came and the other of the brothers took ill. The other one tried to help him, but it was in vain. The disease worsened, and the sick brother began to rave and see things that weren't there."

Gutrune interrupted:

"That sounds like a sad story. So, the sick one died and started to haunt the cabin?"

The farmer replied:

"Not exactly. They both died."

"How? Did the other one catch the illness?"

"Oh, no, he was as healthy as a horse, except for being exhausted from sitting all nights beside his brother's bed. The sick one was very weak, but sometimes he still would rise from his bed and walk about in his feverish state, without knowing anything of what went on around him. The healthy one had to watch that he didn't hurt himself, and so got very little sleep. It was no wonder that one night he couldn't sit awake anymore, but slumbered in his chair. The sick one got up a little after it and rose. This time he walked outside, and his brother still slept. He woke up only when he heard a splash and a cry from outside."

Finrosc broke in:

"So, the sick one drowned?"

"To be sure. In his ravings he could well have had an idea to go to swim. There's no saying about that, but in any case the other one rushed outside as soon as he heard the noise. He was too late, though, and only saw his brother's hand still above the water, like he was waving a farewell to him. The healthy brother then saw the hand, too, sinking. He instantly jumped after his brother, but couldn't find him, since the pond is very deep and its waters are dark.

"After the incident the poor man was devastated. My grand-grandfather Tejas went to see him a few days later to ask if he needed anything.

'No,' was the answer. 'But I wish he wouldn't call me every night.'

'What do you mean?'

'My brother. He has called to me for two nights now. He wants I join him. You know what we swore. I must go to him, but I'm afraid.'

Tejas tried to speak some sense to him, but it was useless. Seeing that Tejas left, but promised to come back the next morning. But when he did so, he couldn't see the living brother anywhere. He examined the banks of the pond, and sure enough, he found footprints in the snow, going from the cabin door to the pond. The poor bloke had gone to meet his brother."

Finrosc had listened with avid attention and asked:

"Is there any song made of that? I'd like to hear it."

The farmer sombrely shook his head.

"No, there was not a minstrel living nearby at the time, and later we haven't liked to speak much about it. I told you this only because you insist to sleep in that cabin. Now it is up to you."

Belhast smiled.

"I don't say you are lying, but begging your pardon, I think we'll hazard that. And why is the cabin still standing if it's so old?"

"Oh, we store fishing things and shot birds there in the summers and because of that keep it in good repair. The ghosts appear only in wintertime, and usually only when some misfortune is coming. When I was twenty, I saw them once myself. I knew it wouldn't bode good, and true enough, that year's crops failed and there was a great hunger."

Belhast tried to discern if them man was having fun at their expense, but one look at the face of the farmer told him he was very sincere. Belhast didn't fear any ghosts, though, and the others were of same opinion. Therefore, they bought some bread and meat from the farmer and headed for the cabin.

------

After twenty minutes' walk they arrived at a hollow where the pond was. The place certainly was gloomy enough: Dark firs surrounded the hollow, sighing in the rising wind, and in the dusk the pond looked like a black pit. Belhast couldn't be sure, but the pond seemed to be about hundred yards long and half as wide. For some reason it didn't had ice over it, and they could hear the tiny waves lapping against the pebbles on the banks. In the silence of the night their footsteps sounded heavy and noisy, and suddenly they realized that they had tried to walk as silently as they could.

The cabin was on the shore nearest them, and with two little rooms was just big enough to accommodate them all. Belhast tied Dummy to a tree and put a wooden coverlet on its back while the others dragged their belongings inside and lit a fire in a stove standing there. After that was done, they ate and talked for some time, before Gutrune retired to the inner room. Finrosc put their lantern out and the brothers stretched themselves on the floor.

Close to midnight Belhast suddenly jerked up. Some sounds had disturbed his sleep, but a few moments elapsed before he realized they came from outside. At first he remembered the gloomy tale the farmer had told, but then he noticed the familiar snorting of a horse. With a stifled groan, he rolled over and rose to his feet, thinking:

"I wonder what's up with Dummy? I hope there aren't any wolves here."

He opened the door and went outside, careful not to wake Finrosc up. He stopped on the doorstep, breathing the chilly night air and listening. The only sounds were the quiet murmur of the water and the whinnying of Dummy. Belhast walked to the horse, looking around him. But he saw no trace of wolves or a bear in the moonlit ground, or of any other creature of the forest for that matter. He checked if the coverlet was still on Dummy's back. It was, but touching the horse Belhast could sense it was agitated, maybe even afraid. Although a little annoyed, he took Dummy's head between his hands and spoke softly to it:

"Now, now, boy, there's nothing to worry about. Are you lonely, or what? You just have to get used to it."

The horse calmed down for a while, but suddenly sprang on its hind legs, neighing wildly. Belhast had to jump backwards in order to avoid the kicking hooves. He fell on his back and dragged himself back with his hands. Even as Belhast retreated like this from the frenzied animal, he heard Gutrune shrieking shrilly and an unearthly wail coming from the cabin.

------

Read and review, please.


	17. Chapter 17: The Beckoning Hand

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1. Thanks for all reviewers, your feedback is very encouraging.

Chapter 17: The Beckoning Hand

Gutrune shrieked again and Belhast jumped up, shuddering all over. In wild confusion, he staggered further away from the kicking horse. All kinds of thoughts raced through his head, and at first he thought about brigands. But how could they have entered the house unseen and unheard, when the shutters were tightly closed? His hand reached for his sword, but he had left it in the cabin. A new yell cleaved the air, this time from Finrosc:

"No! Get away from me! Help!"

Belhast rushed towards the cabin, but abruptly stopped dead in his tracks. Dummy stopped its struggles as suddenly as it had begun, and stood very still. It drew its ears tight against its head and shivered piteously, as if frozen by terror. A low moan ringed again through the night, but Belhast paid no heed to it. Instead, his gaze was riveted on the centre of the pond.

In the pale moonlight he saw a white hand rising above the surface. The hand glowed faintly with a sickly light, and its bloodless fingers were extended towards the sky as if in prayer. What was most curious was that there was not a ripple in the water, no disturbance at all when the ghastly hand slowly emerged. Belhast rubbed his eyes, mumbling:

"This can't be true!"

But when he opened his eyes again, the hand was still there. With growing fear Belhast saw its long fingers slowly moving, as if it was beckoning to somebody. Suddenly it felt to Belhast like his heart was about to stop. All blood retreated from his face and a chill ran up his spine. For even as the hand moved, a deep, cold voice reached his ears, as if coming from underwater:

"Come, my brother! Come to me, fulfil your oath."

There was something compelling, yet repugnant, in the voice, and despite of his terror Belhast took a reluctant step towards the pond. But he stopped suddenly, as the door of the cabin flew open with great force. An unearthly voice spoke, but it was different one than the former:

"Yes, I will. Soon I will be with you."

The words came as an anguish-filled sigh that made Belhast feeling even more terrified. His legs gave way and he fell on his knees, his eyes wide open. Everything in him wanted to flee, but a strange weakness was over him and he could only stare before him.

A shadowy form came out of the door, and Belhast could see it resembled a young man with a round, handsome face. Moonlight seemed to go straight through the vision, outlining its foggy form. The face of the ghost was filled with pain and perhaps fear, but determination shone in its fell eyes. Belhast cried out in terror, but the spirit didn't seem even to notice him. Instead, it walked towards the pond with slow steps, its head bowed down.

When the ghost reached the water, it paused for a while, as if hesitating. The hand beckoned once more. The first voice whispered hoarsely:

"Come!"

The ghost fixed its gaze on the hand and walked into water. Slowly, very slowly it submerged in the dark pond. When it had sunk to its waist, it gradually started to dissolve. Each step it took made its features less clear. Wisps of mist seemed to escape from it, making it more and more transparent. At length the ghost was in the water up to its neck, only the faint outlines of its face still visible. Before Belhast's horrified gaze it seemed to take a long breath and the ghastly face disappeared into the black water, without disturbing the surface. A last, chilling moan was heard, and all fell silent once more. Only a small cloud of fog floated for a moment over the place where the ghost had disappeared. Then the faint wind grasped it and dissolved it. Amazed and shocked, Belhast shifted his eyes to the spot where the hand had been. It, too, had vanished. The pond was still and its surface only mirrored the silvery moon.

------

Belhast sat on the ground, breathing heavily. For a while he felt like fainting, but before long he felt the strength returning to his limbs. With some difficulty he rose and shook his head to clear his mind. He felt immensely relieved now that the ghost was gone. But a sudden worry attacked him and he turned towards the cabin.

"Roscy! Gutrune! Are you well?"

The answer was a bit shaky:

"Yes, we are. How about you?"

"A little frightened still, but safe and sound."

Belhast took a step towards the cabin and saw Finrosc and Gutrune standing in the doorway, their faces a picture of mixed horror and relief. Gutrune wiped cold sweat from her face.

"Oh, that was horrid! There was a strange sound and I – I woke up and there he stood, right before me! Where did he go?"

Belhast only pointed to the pond, and Gutrune exclaimed:

"What? So we saw…?"

"Those brothers we thought to be a fairy-tale, yes."

"Impossible!"

Belhast's voice was dry:

"Do you have any better explanation?"

Gutrune shrugged and hesitantly strode to the shore of the pond. She gazed silently over the water, shaking apparently both from cold and shock. Finrosc approached her and without speaking, spread his cloak over her shoulders, standing next to her. Meanwhile, Belhast walked to Dummy, who neighed faintly. The poor animal was covered with foam, as if it had been ridden hard and long. When Belhast came near to it, it snorted and pushed its muzzle against Belhast's cheek. He patted Dummy, trying to soothe both it and himself at the same time:

"The show is over, old boy. They've gone and won't come back. Calm down, old buddy, there's nothing to be afraid of."

He took the cover off the gelding's back and brushed the animal. During the operation he felt Dummy slowly relaxing and envied the horse. His nerves were still agitated and his hands shook badly. But after he had put the cover back on Dummy and given the horse a morsel of feed he already felt a little better. He returned to the cabin with unsteady steps.

Inside, he saw Finrosc and Gutrune had lit both the stove and an old lantern. Gutrune was stirring a boiling kettle, and turned when she heard Belhast entering.

"Ah, there you are! Sit down and I'll pour you some tea."

Belhast did as he was told and soon he had a steaming cup of tea before him. He smelled the brew and frowned slightly. Gutrune smiled.

"Smells a bit strange, doesn't it? I thought we would have some difficulty to sleep, so I put a little of a mixture I know into the tea. It's wonderfully relaxing."

Belhast tasted the liquid warily, but took care he didn't appear too suspicious. After the incident with the mead he didn't want to offend Gutrune more. He said:

"It certainly tastes good. And I think you are correct, we won't be any worse from a good sleep." He started and his eyes shifted to and fro.

"Unless the ghosts come back…"

Finrosc scoffed, but sounded not too confident when he said:

"I don't think so. Besides, they didn't do us any harm."

Belhast nodded and drained his mug. Ghosts or no, he felt exhausted and wouldn't waste any more sleeping time than was necessary. He walked over to the corner, where he wrapped himself inside his cloak, using his pack as his pillow. For some minutes he lay there, hearing Gutrune and Finrosc speaking in low tones. But soon his shaking hands became still, and his heartbeat grew slower. Comfortable warmth spread through his body, and in the wake of it came a feeling of relaxation. Belhast thought drowsily:

"I still don't know what she put into the tea, but I must ask for the recipe."

He rolled onto his side and spiralled down into the inviting blackness.

------

Belhast rose only when the sun already peeked through the cracks of the window-shutters. He felt, if not exactly fresh, somewhat rested and ready for the day's exertions. Finrosc remained snoring in the corner when Belhast lit the stove and the lantern, starting to make breakfast. It was the work of less than half an hour, and soon the smell of tea and porridge pervaded the air of the cabin. As Belhast set to finding his bowl and cup, Finrosc rolled over and yawned:

"Good morning! What time it is?"

"Time to eat, you sluggard. You chose the perfect moment to rise."

Belhast then knocked on the door of the inner room, calling:

"Gutrune! Are you awake?"

"Not quite, but I'll rise nonetheless," was the sleepy answer.

In a less than an hour the porridge had disappeared to their stomachs and they had emerged from the cabin. In the morning light the pond looked a lot less ominous than in the night before, but they still avoided looking at it. Belhast felt quite relieved after he had taken the reins of Dummy and they finally ascended the path out of the hollow.

They stopped at the farm to buy feed for the horse and to tell the farmer what had happened. After hearing about it the man fell silent for some time. His brow furrowed when he said:

"That bodes ill, and no mistake. I wonder what it is this time."

He refused to take any pay, but instead gave the travellers some bread and ham for the journey. And so the trio was again on the move, leaving a very worried peasant behind.

They walked for some hours without saying more than two or three words. Especially Finrosc seemed to ponder hard on something, muttering almost inaudibly to himself. Close to noon Belhast decided to break the ice and nudged the bard.

"Still afraid, eh? I thought you would have enjoyed it, seeing you always boast to like anything exciting."

Finrosc gave him a distracted look.

"Hush, don't disturb me. I think I just got it."

"Huh? Got what?"

Finrosc looked at Belhast like he was more than a little simple.

"Why, the rhymes of course! Say, how does it sound:

'Come, honour you oath!' called  
he from deeps. 'We once swore  
to dwell together, whether dead  
or living.' Those words tore  
the living man's wound afresh.

'Verily, I will come to you,  
my brother! No man shall  
know me as a perjurer. Too  
long have I denied your call.  
Show the way, I follow.'"

Belhast shook his head, smiling.

"I think it's pretty good."

------

Read and review, please.


	18. Chapter 18: The Prancing Pony

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

Chapter 18: The Prancing Pony

The day after the encounter with ghosts the trio arrived at a crossroads, where the main road divided in two. After consulting with their map they decided to follow the northward route since they had no intention to travel to the White Downs. Instead, they found that after two or three days they would arrive at a village called Bree. Belhast mused:

"I think we could spend there some days. We need some rest and the most of the winter is still ahead. We have no hurry to get to the Mountains yet."

The others agreed, and so they continued their journey. They were now nearing the point where Arthedain bordered with Cardolan, and it showed. The villages and farmsteads grew gradually sparser and smaller, and the inhabitants more distrustful. Even the signs in the trees were scarcer and indicated mostly springs and good camping sites. An uneasy peace had prevailed between the two realms for years, but the older people still remembered the raids and hostile armies that had ravaged their homes for more than once. And even the soldiers of their own king had sometimes behaved in a way that was only a bit short of outright robbery.

There was talk about wolves and highwaymen, and many military patrols crisscrossed the roads and the countryside. The soldiers stopped the travellers twice in as many days, but let them go after hearing their story. After all, their gear wasn't that of robbers and the reason for their travelling sounded plausible to the soldiers. Times were worsening, and many people took to road in order to search better livelihood. Gutrune took these occasions calmly, but both the men sweated under their heavy garments. It was more from old habit, though, than from actual danger. As Belhast noted to himself: Once caught, always fearful.

------

After two days the trio found that the ground started to rise in either side of the road. Looking towards the east they saw a chain of round, low hills rolling until the clouded horizon. Small groups of naked trees spotted the scenery, which surely would be more cheerful in the summer. In the west, in contrast, rose steep, jagged hills. Belhast looked at them as he walked, feeling somehow uneasy. Strange, black stones protruded from the bare hilltops and one could see that some of them had been carved with strange symbols and reliefs. For some reason the sight made Belhast feel even colder than he already had been. There seemed to be something menacing and oppressive in the air.

Finrosc evidently felt likewise, since he broke the silence:

"Gutrune, do you know what those stones are for? They are somehow creepy."

Gutrune thoughtfully tapped the ground with her staff before answering:

"If the tales I have heard are true, they mark graves. Those hills are named Barrow Downs or some such. It is told that the royalty of the Men of the West still buries its members here. But the stones are far older. Some say the people who lived in Eriador in the years of Darkness had their dwellings and graves on those hills. It's a bad place in the night, according to some. I don't know, and I have no desire to investigate. Now when I see those hills, they sure are gloomy enough."

Finrosc threw one more glance at the scenery.

"Hmm, I can't say I disagree."

By evening the chain of hills showed no signs of ending, and the trio set their camp on the eastern side of the road. None of them wanted to be any nearer the dark stones than was necessary. This evening Finrosc didn't sing and their talk was quiet and reserved, as if something in the land itself damped their spirits. They went to sleep rather early than late.

------

The next morning they were in better mood, rested and eager to continue their journey. Belhast studied the map once again. After a moment he rolled it up and put it in his pack.

"If everything goes well, we will arrive at Bree three or four hours after midday. About time, I'd say. I don't know about you two, but I'm already sick of sleeping outdoors."

"A real bed and a warm hearth wouldn't hurt me, either," Finrosc assented. He turned towards Gutrune:

"You know places here better than us. Do you know what kind of town this Bree is?"

"Well, I haven't travelled this far north before, as I came to Eriador through the Redhorn Pass. But there are few in all the three kingdoms that haven't heard of Bree. That's because it stands in the meeting place of the Fornost road we are travelling now and the Great East Road. It's not a town, but rather a big village. But there is a well-known inn there, The Jumping Horse or something like that. All kinds of travellers like to rest there for a while, and one can hear all the news of the northern realms there. In any case it's a capital place to make some inquiries about the road ahead of us."

The men nodded to this, and after saddling Dummy the travellers emerged from the thicket they had camped in and began to march towards the north again.

------

The sun was already descending when they arrived at the village. The saw already from distance the wooden palisade surrounding Bree. The village was built against the face of a steep, high hill. There were perhaps a hundred stone and log houses divided from each other by dirty lanes and small backyards. Belhast's eyes wandered over all this in a few moments. Altogether the place looked very dull and uninspiring, a very model of a large country village. The only point of interest was a big building looming over the rest of the village, being the highest one on the hill-face. It was a three-storied, whitewashed house with tall windows and shutters painted bright green. It was built in the shape of a squared 'U', the arms of which pointed uphill, partly delving into the hillside. A small stable huddled beside the main building. Belhast assumed the house was the famed inn, and nodded to himself, contented.

When they arrived at the village gate it was almost dark already. The gatekeeper, a surly, thin man was just beginning to close it when Finrosc hailed him:

"Good evening, Master! Seems we are just in time."

"A bit late even," was the sullen answer. "Go quickly in. I must close this by sunset."

The travellers walked briskly in. The gatekeeper started to secure the gate with two heavy planks, not deigning even to look at them. They returned the favour by ignoring the gatekeeper and started to ascend a decrepit road running up the hill. Mud sloshed in their feet, and they had to kick all kinds of rubbish from their way, but looking at the side-alleys Belhast saw they were on the best-kept street of the whole village. He grunted:

"I really hope this isn't an omen about the quality of that inn."

Finally they arrived at the door of the inn and gave Dummy to a stable-boy who hurried past. As they hauled the saddle-packs down from the horse's back, Belhast took a closer look at the house. It was made of stone, the white surface being quite clean and the cement on the walls having no cracks. One could surmise the place was well kept. Three stone steps led to the main door that stood just beside the archway leading into the yard. A sign hung over the door, displaying a white pony rearing on its hind legs. Below the picture was the text "The Prancing Pony" in bold, white letters. Finrosc didn't have interest for any architectural fine points, however, but dumped a part of Dummy's burden unceremoniously on Belhast's arms. Then, laden with the saddle-packs as well as their other gear and followed by Gutrune, they dragged themselves inside.

At first they only blinked, since the light dazed their eyes after the December twilight. After a moment they could survey their surroundings. They were in a wide and pretty long common room furnished with simple tables and benches of roughly planed wood. The hall was perhaps three-quarters full with all kinds of people who were drinking and conversing noisily. Before Belhast could survey this crowd properly a man entered with a brisk pace from an inner room. He was a remarkable sight, if for nothing else then just for the length of his belt. At first sight he looked almost wider than he was tall. But his most notable feature was definitely an immense moustache that moved as if it had a life on its own whenever the man spoke or changed expression. The pride and glory of this masculine ornament was rivalled only by a pair of bushy, greying sideburns that stuck outwards like two stiff brushes. After puffing for a moment this remarkable-looking person addressed the trio:

"Good evening and welcome to the Prancing Pony, gentlemen," – it was only now he seemed to notice Gutrune who stood behind the brothers– "oh, and the ladies too, of course! In need of lodgings, eh? You have come to the right place. This is the best inn around here, if I may say so. I am its owner, and proud of it, if you pardon me for bragging a little." Here he made a stiff bow that was hindered by his wide girth.

"Barnabas Butterbur in your service, my good masters. Oh, and in the service of the young mistress here, too. I suppose you have travelled long this day? I hope your journey has been pleasant. Two rooms, was it? Ah, and stabling for the horse, of course. Do you have your own feed? No? That's no problem, not at all, I assure you. We keep the finest quality of hay in our stables, we do. Your faithful beast will be as well kept as you. Not meaning that you should sleep in the stable, though."

He laughed at his own joke, and Belhast used this opportunity to say:

"Yes, we need two rooms, if you please. One for me and my friend here and one for the young mistress. We already saw our horse to the stable."

Butterbur answered:

"Ah, very good! I hope that rascal of a stable boy didn't bother you in any way. No? Good. He has the manners of a goblin, I could say, though I don't really know any goblins to see if that is true. I really should teach him to mind his mouth, but you see I'm a very busy man. " He slapped his forehead.

"But what were we talking about? Oh, this awful head of mine! One thing comes in from the other ear and the others fly out of the other. The rooms, was it? Yes, I should think it was. You are lucky, since we have much room in this time of year. Not that much of travellers this near Yule, really. I would have next to no business in mid-winter if Breelanders weren't so fond of good beer. But the rooms, yes. I'll see to it right away, if all this running doesn't kill me first. Please, sit down on a table, if you want to have some dinner while waiting. You can leave your stuff here, Fred will look after it. Fred! Fred, where do you loiter again? Now, if you excuse me, I must be going. I'll be back presently."

He bustled away through the hall, not falling silent for an instant. At every step he either shouted orders to the servants or made this or that observation to some customer. When Fred, a thin man with average height and average face, arrived the travellers were still bewildered and a little exhausted by Butterbur's constant torrent of words. The man seemed hardly to have time to breathe inwards.

A short time later they were seated at a table, bowls of steaming soup before them. Belhast sighed in contentment as he dipped his spoon into the soup. After the exertions of the day he was ravenously hungry, and the smell of the food was very promising. The dinner was indeed of very good quality for a country inn, and the ale that accompanied it was no worse. The soup was followed by roasted pork with vegetables and rye bread spread thickly with salted butter. And as if this wouldn't have been enough the meal was crowned by a bowl of dried berries, along with excellent apple pie. Accordingly, they exchanged hardly a word while they ate, but after the plates had been cleared and they sipped tea, they amused themselves by observing the crowd in the hall.

The place seemed to be filled mostly with the local peasants, judging from their garments and manners. Earth-brown and different hues of red seemed to be the most usual colours of mostly unkempt hairs of the men and of the long braids of women or freely falling locks of maidens, spotted here and there by a blonde or black head, or a grey beard of some old gaffer. There were not more than a dozen persons looking like travellers. Three of them were dwarves who sat by themselves in a corner table. Belhast had heard about that strange people only from vague tales, so naturally he was very curious. He would have gone and spoken to them, but the sullen expressions and frowning glances thrown by the dwarves towards the crowd discouraged him. He would have commented about them to the others, but Finrosc pointed towards another part of the room.

"Look! Doesn't that gaffer look familiar?"

Belhast glanced to that direction and saw an old man robed in grey, his equally grey beard flowing down to his waist. He sat alone before an empty platter and a tankard of ale, seemingly lost in his thoughts. Only occasionally he raised his head and watched the crowd with amused interest. Belhast shook his head.

"He does. But I can't recall where I have seen him before." He shrugged.

"Well, that doesn't matter much. Instead of staring at strangers, we should discuss the road ahead."

"Sounds fine."

For a while they interrogated Gutrune about what she knew about the lands between Bree and the Mountains. That wasn't much, but Gutrune could tell that they could expect few villages and even fewer inns until at least the border of Rhudaur. If they wanted to sleep indoors every night they should travel with fewer pauses and longer per day than before. Then their talk drifted to their – or, in the case of the brothers, their pretended – goal. None of them knew anything definite about Esgaroth, but that didn't prevent them from building pleasing future scenarios. Listening Gutrune musing about her coming prospects Belhast thought about his and Finrosc's own uncertain fate. For a moment he sincerely hoped he could really just find employment in Esgaroth or anywhere else and leave the dangerous quest aside. He would have sighed, but someone sitting heavily beside him diverted his attention.

"Is this place free?"

------

Read and review, please. I couldn't resist the temptation, so the worthy landlord of The Prancing Pony is obviously a direct ancestor of Barliman Butterbur. After all, the inn is said in LotR to have been run by the Butterburs "since times immemorial".


	19. Chapter 19: Two Strangers

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

Chapter 19: Two Strangers

Belhast looked to his left in surprise and saw one of the most impressive-looking men he had ever beheld. The stranger's height was the first thing that struck Belhast: He was almost head and shoulders taller than the Gondorian. A rapid calculation told Belhast that the man was at least six feet seven inches, perhaps even seven feet tall. His face was not less interesting, though. The stranger had features that told of long exposure to all kinds of weather and coal-black hair that was greying on the temples. Keen, intelligent steel-grey eyes looked at the three travellers. He would have been tolerably handsome but for two wide, deep scars running from the corner of his left eye down to his long chin. Belhast looked at the stranger's clothes and frowned slightly. It didn't just add up: This man had the face and the haughty air of a Man of Westernesse, but wore soldier's garments from simple wool and cotton. Admittedly his clothes were clean and repaired wherever necessary, but they were worn and their colours had faded somewhat. As for his age, he looked like a man of about forty to forty-five, so as a Dunadan he could have been perhaps seventy to eighty years old.

"Perhaps some minor noble who has squandered his money, or more likely a retired lieutenant or some such", Belhast thought. Aloud, he said:

"Who are you and what do you want?"

The stranger was not baffled by Belhast's rude tone, but smiled, revealing that the left side of his upper jaw missed two teeth.

"Good day to you, also. My name is Eglamir. As for my business, I merely wanted a pleasant chat, and to make a proposal to you."

"We are not tradesmen, dear master. I think those would be more interested," Belhast dryly replied, pointing towards the group of dwarves.

"Oh, no, my proposal is not about money."

"What is it then?"

The stranger leaned on his elbows and let his eyes wander again over the three travellers.

"It is simply this: I want to accompany you when you travel from Bree."

Belhast was surprised and a little alarmed by this, and asked:

"And why is that so? Why should we take you with us?"

The Dunadan's smile widened a bit.

"Because I heard you are going to east. That is precisely where I am heading. Secondly, there are highwaymen along the road, and worse things besides. Orcs coming from the North have been sighted. It would be nice indeed if I had someone to watch my back, and I may say I am a man that is good to have on your side in a fight. I will of course take care of my own provisions and expenses. So, what do you say?"

Belhast pondered upon this. He looked at the man's lean but strong frame, and knew the stranger didn't exaggerate his prowess. He glanced at the others, seeing that they too were looking uncertain. Finrosc spoke hesitantly:

"Well, we don't say yes but nor do we say no. We must talk about it before we take a complete stranger with us. First off, we must know more about you."

Eglamir nodded gravely.

"That is only sensible. Very well, then. I have served for twenty years as a scout in Arthedain's army and got honourably discharged this autumn. I have been trying to find employment as a mercenary or a bodyguard but there are too many fellows doing the same on this side of the mountains. I could not help hearing your conversation and was delighted of the prospect of travelling companions." He shrugged.

"Of course, you have no proof save my own words. But I repeat what I said earlier: The road is dangerous and you seem not to be accustomed to fight. I, for my part, know what colour human blood is. Besides, I know every path, stream and village from here to the Misty Mountains."

The trio looked at each other, still uncertain. It was a certain risk to take a new companion with them, but on the other hand, an experienced woodsman would come handy in the wild lands ahead. They remembered the warnings they had received from everyone and there would be more strength in numbers if bandits attacked them. But then again, Belhast wryly thought, what guarantee there was the stranger wasn't a highwayman himself? Meanwhile, Gutrune seemed to scrutinize Eglamir closely. She leaned towards Finrosc, whispering:

"He may be ugly but I believe he can be trusted. I don't know why, but I can't believe he's a bad kind of man."

Finrosc only shrugged, the expression on his face inscrutable. Seeing that Eglamir looked at him expectantly, he cleared his throat and spoke:

"Well, at any rate you can tell a convincing story. But as I said, we can't make such a decision straight away. Let us speak about this tomorrow when I and my companions have thought about it."

Eglamir gravely nodded.

"Good. I think I will spend most of my day here in the hall. Come and tell me when you have decided."

He rose.

"Now when that much is settled, I think I will take my leave."

He was about to go, but at that moment the grey-robed man Belhast had seen earlier stepped next to the table. He leant his hands on it, a pleasant smile on his face.

"Greetings, good masters and the fair mistress! Would you mind if I asked you something?"

Belhast looked at him in annoyance, thinking he was a beggar, and exclaimed:

"Yes, we would! Can't honest travellers sit in peace and drink without being disturbed by common vagabonds at every turn?"

The old man's smile grew dry. As if he had read Belhast's thoughts he answered, still in a quite polite manner.

"Ah, but I am an uncommon vagabond, if you take my meaning. I ask no money, only a small favour. It will not cost you anything."

Despite the fair words there was a quick, stern flash in the man's eyes that subdued Belhast's grumpiness. Belhast's tone changed to a tolerably civil one:

"I am sorry if I offended you. Very well, tell us what you need, and we'll try to help."

"Thank you. I only need someone to bear a message to a friend of mine. He is presently in the east. I deem you may find him in Esgaroth but he could be travelling even beyond the Inland Sea."

Belhast replied:

"If he is, we can't help. We have no intention to go farther than Esgaroth."

The old man smiled in a knowing way.

"On the contrary, I think the roads of this world don't stop at Esgaroth."

This manner of speech made Belhast uneasy. Could that old gaffer know of their errand? Belhast shook his head. No, it was folly to think so.

"This whole thing is just getting on my nerves," he thought before saying aloud:

"Be that as it may, but we will certainly tell your message if we meet your friend. So, you can give the letter to us."

The old man replied:

"Oh, it is not a letter but only a simple sentence. If you meet him, just tell him that Mithrandir is worried and in great need of news."

At this point Eglamir started visibly, seemingly noticed only by Belhast. The old man went on:

"My friend, or perhaps colleague would be a better word, is named Curunir. Many call him also Saruman. You will know him when you meet him. He is like me, yet unlike."

He laughed briefly, seeing Belhast's frown.

"Oh, he really can't be described better than that. But if you need to know more, he has a black beard and hair, and he dresses in white. It is very important that he gets my message, so do not forget it."

Belhast replied after musing for a moment.

"But if it's important why do you ask us to deliver it? We may not even meet him."

There was again a strange gleam in the man's eyes, a glimpse of craft and perhaps wisdom that made Belhast entirely reconsider his first impressions. Who was this man? His looks were so humble, but there was something in him that warned against underestimating him. Whatever he was he was not a mere vagabond. Then the momentary impression faded away and the stranger was again an old, bent man with a dry, faint smile.

"Of course I have also set motion other means to reach him. I may be old but I am not senile yet. He'll get my words from you or from somewhere other."

Belhast nodded.

"Of course."

The man straightened.

"Now, I will leave you in peace. Thank you again."

He turned towards Eglamir, shaking his head regretfully.

"Do you remember what we spoke when we last met? I see you did not heed my advice."

Eglamir answered, looking him straight in the eyes:

"No, I did not. I thought it better to follow my own judgement, for better or for worse. It is in vain to regret when the deed is done."

The only answer was a reproaching look, and the old man strode away. Eglamir turned to face the others, only to see their eyes were riveted to him. Finrosc spoke with vague suspicion in his voice:

"You know him? Who is he, anyway?"

Eglamir didn't answer for a while, and when he did the words were slow and thoughtful, as if he was trying to think how much he could tell.

"His name is Mithrandir, or Gandalf as the common folk call him here. Some say he is a wizard, some that he is an elf. I do not know exactly which is the truth. But he is… important. Wherever something of consequence happens, Mithrandir is bound to appear."

Seeing the others expected to heart more, he went on:

"Yes, I know him of old. But I have met him only twice or thrice. I cannot tell you more about him. But I recommend you treat his request seriously. When he says something is important it is."

Then he abruptly said:

"But, we will see tomorrow. I wish you a pleasant evening."

He walked away, leaving the trio very puzzled. When he thought Eglamir was out of earshot, Finrosc said:

"Now if that wasn't suspicious I don't know what is! I'll bet they are robbers and arranged this act to confuse us."

Gutrune scoffed:

"Come now, why would they had done so? If they had tried to trick us into trusting them they would have behaved otherwise. I still think that at least that Eglamir is what he says. How about you, Beleg? What do you say?"

Belhast, thus addressed, replied:

"Yes, you must be right. His story makes sense and he sure looks like an old soldier. I think we could take him with us, even though we should be wary for a time until we see his true colours. But that Gandalf then, there's something in him I can't put a finger on. I think we've seen him before, Roscy. Am I right?"

Finrosc mused for a moment, and then slapped his forehead.

"Of course! He was the old fellow we laughed at in Tharbad. Still, that doesn't matter. He's not the one that is coming with us. If we meet Curunir he mentioned we'll definitely deliver the message but otherwise we don't have to worry about him. As for Eglamir, I'm still unsure about him. I can't say this instant if I agree with you two. What if we talked about this at breakfast? Morning is often wiser than evening. And this evening I want to relax and have some fun. Let's order some ale, shall we?"

The others agreed and they waved to a waiter who cleared the table, carrying three tankards of beer when returning. Belhast took a deep draught and sighed:

"Ahh, nothing beats cold beer!"

------

They didn't stop at one tankard, but after emptying the first they ordered another round, and then another. They weren't the only ones drinking, since most of the people in the hall seemed to empty mugs of beer or mead at an alarming rate. After the second beer Belhast felt like the air had become heavier and hotter. All the voices around him seemed to grow louder and merrier, too, and he found he had raised his own voice also to get heard over the hubbub. He raised his tankard and exclaimed:

"To a successful journey, my friends!"

The others repeated the words and they clanked their mugs together before draining them. The evening seemed to become a merry one, especially after the waiter brought a new round of beer to them. After the third beer Belhast's spirits began really soar, and he felt better than in ages. Looking around, he saw laughing faces in every table. Even the dwarves had warmed to the extent they sang the strange songs of their people, striking measure on the table with their fists. Turning to face them, Belhast began to jest merrily with his companions, who by the slight flush on their faces were a little intoxicated by now. Grabbing his tankard, Finrosc rose and said:

"A new toast, if you please! To the most fair and delightful of travelling companions, Gutrune the beautiful!"

He gave her a look that made her blush and drained his drink, followed by Belhast, who in his part directed a stern glance at the bard. But Finrosc was in one of his reckless moods and didn't heed the warning. Instead, he started to flirt outrageously with Gutrune. At first she seemed uneasy, but soon she began to smile and respond in kind. Witty remarks and pleasantries were exchanged like sword-thrusts in a duel, and soon the two had seemingly forgotten Belhast's existence. Seeing this, he was at first annoyed, especially when he saw how Gutrune looked at Finrosc. He frowned, but then straightened in his seat, slapping himself mentally.

"You fool! Are you jealous?" he thought. The thought was so surprising he had to give a moment, and the aid of a heavy gulp of beer to ponder that. After a while he shrugged.

"No, I'm not. Let Roscy have his fun, if he has to. I can't do a thing to prevent it, in any case, not when he's like that. But tomorrow I'll say him a thing or two."

With that resolution he rose and walked to another table, where some merchants played dice. He sat down and asked if he could join in the game. The merchants instantly agreed and soon Belhast was rolling the dice and exchanging rude jests with the other players. Every time he went to get a new drink, however, he glanced at Finrosc and Gutrune and saw that Finrosc was now stroking a strand of her hair. He said something quietly. It was obviously a compliment, since Gutrune laughed and gave him a beaming smile. However, Belhast saw that she was keeping some distance and was a little reserved in her manner still. That pleased him.

"Good, Roscy fooling with her could cause problems. But it seems he's finally found someone who's resistant to his charms."

He turned back to the game, throwing the four dices on the table. The result was four sixes, and with a grin he collected the money on the table, stuffing it into his pocket.

------

After an hour or so Belhast decided he had won enough and rose. He had gained about thirty copper coins, and the merchants tried to goad him into staying in the hopes of winning their money back. Stoutly refusing, he walked away. He asked from a waiter where the backhouse was and after gaining that crucial information went that way.

When he re-entered the hall, he saw Gutrune sitting alone and waving to him. He walked to her, asking with a casual voice:

"Where's Roscy?"

"He went to fetch his lute. Someone asked him to sing, and he was only too happy to comply. Well, I bought some drinks for us while we wait."

She pushed a full mug of mead towards Belhast, who took it. He sat heavily down, taking a sip. The mead tasted sweeter than he had expected, with a faint hint of an aroma he thought he recognized from somewhere. But, after six tankards of beer he didn't pause to think about it, but merely remarked:

"Thanks, Gutrune. I wonder what they put in the mead here. It tastes a bit different than usually."

Gutrune shrugged.

"Oh, the waiter said they use a secret recipe, known only by Butterbur." She laughed.

"I really hope he's written it down somewhere. Otherwise it won't become a family heritage. Why, the man could easily forget his own name!"

Belhast glanced at the other end of the hall where Butterbur was eagerly explaining something to a servant, and joined in the laugh.

"You are right, Gutrune! Well, at any rate I hope he remembers to prepare our rooms."

Just as he said the last words, Finrosc appeared behind him.

"Actually, he has. I saw the rooms just a moment ago. They are not exactly a royal abode but tidy and cosy enough."

He fingered his lute that was hanging from a leather cord slung over his left shoulder.

"Well, how about a song?"

The other two nodded, and Finrosc nimbly rose to an empty table. Alerted by this action the crowd turned to look at him. Even the dwarves stopped singing and stared at him with their drink-dimmed eyes. Finrosc basked in the attention for a moment and then raised his voice:

"I wish you all have a delightful evening, masters and mistresses! As a stranger newly arrived at your beautiful village, I only wanted to express my gratitude of the hospitality of our worthy host, Barnabas Butterbur. Never have I seen an inn with better food and ale, or with friendlier patrons."

He paused and bowed to Butterbur, who beamed at the praise, coarse and false as it was. There was a brief applause, and then a ruddy man shouted:

"If I recall right you told me you are a singer, not a speaker!"

Finrosc turned to him.

"Yes, you are quite right, my friend. If you will, I will try to entertain you with the best melodies I know. But do not forget that singing is tiring work, and even the best pipes need greasing to strike a true note."

The crowd laughed and someone handed a tankard to Finrosc, who gracefully took it. After draining the mug he straightened and played a few slow, lingering cords. Then, satisfied with the tuning of his instrument he changed to a clear, melancholy song. He caught up with the melody and sang:

"To the raging sea I sang  
but it stilled not.  
To the howling wind I sang  
but it quieted not.  
To my aching heart I sang  
but it listened not.  
For who could still the great sea,  
who could silence the sighing wind,  
who could heal my wounded heart?

To the grey sky I sang,  
it cleared not.  
To the sleeping sun I sang,  
it rose not.  
To your heart I sang,  
it stirred not.  
Clouds hang full of rain,  
long is the bitter winter night,  
no pity knows your proud heart.

To flowers of meadow I sang,  
they bloomed not.  
To leaves of forest I sang,  
they opened not.  
To you, fair maiden, I sang  
but you loved me not.  
The flowers have withered,  
the leaves are dead,  
you are colder than ice.

Oh, where is the spring that I wait?  
Where is the warmth that my heart yearns?  
They have gone, now winter reigns,  
for I know you will never love me."

------

From the moment Finrosc had climbed onto the table Belhast had felt strange. Before the last drink of mead he had been only moderately drunk, in that delightful state when all lights are brighter, every girl is pretty and the world is beautiful. But during the song he became increasingly more tired and sleepy. It was as if he had only now realized how fatigued he was from the day's walk. It seemed to him like a veil had been drawn over his eyes, the forms of the crowd becoming vague and indistinct. His head drooped and the words of the song seemed to come from somewhere very afar. He shook his head and jerked himself upright, blinking.

"That mead sure was strong," he thought, trying to keep awake. He tried to ask Gutrune fetch him some water to clear his head, but found he couldn't form so long a sentence. He laughed, finding his state suddenly funny.

"You drunkarrrd… Shtupid drunkarrrd…" he mumbled almost inaudibly, leaning his head on his hands. Suddenly a fleeting, surprisingly clear thought flashed through his head, and he managed to grasp at it.

"That taste in the mead… I know where I have felt it before."

But then the thought was gone, and his brain was again only a swirl of incoherent ideas. He giggled again. It sounded so funny in his ears that he giggled again, now louder. At that moment he felt a light hand on his shoulder and heard Gutrune's voice like from behind a thick wall:

"Are you well?"

He smiled widely at her.

"Yessshhh, nuthin' to comlain off!"

Gutrune said again something, but Belhast didn't bother to listen. Tiredness came over him like a tidal wave and he collapsed heavily onto the table. With an effort he mumbled:

"Let me be… I shleep now…"

Then he let go of everything and plunged into the soothing, silent blackness.

------

Read and review, please. I'd especially like to hear how Finrosc's song was. I tried to fashion it after medieval Minnesänger or troubadours. All the lines, however, are exclusively my own writing.


	20. Chapter 20: A Rude Awakening

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

Chapter 20: A Rude Awakening

When Finrosc had ended his song, there was a vigorous applause. Even the dwarves clapped their rough hands briefly before resuming drinking. Finrosc bowed and descended from the table. He saw that Gutrune had stepped right next to the table and looked intently at him. With a smug look, he said to her:

"Well, how did you like it?"

Gutrune's smile was as warm as her voice:

"It was brilliant, but I think the words were somewhat amiss."

She leaned closer to Finrosc and raised her hand to his cheek. She lowered her voice:

"Just come to my room tonight, and you'll see if my heart is cold."

Finrosc thought he could feel the warmth of her body even through their heavy clothes. Moreover, the touch of her hand and the unmistakable invitation in her voice made his flesh stir. How long he had been without a woman? It felt like an eternity. And now there he stood, a young and pretty maiden leaning against him.

"Roscy, you lucky dog! She's all yours if you like," he thought, swallowing hard. He felt like patting himself on the back, but managed to keep his face level. That was all the easier since he suddenly began to worry about Belhast's reaction. There would be a nasty row, if he knew his brother right. Belhast could be such a prude, and besides had always been somewhat over-cautious. Finrosc looked around, expecting to see Belhast looking at him with that all too familiar displeasure and rebuke. But then his eyes landed on Belhast, who was swaying on his chair and seemed to be about to pass out. Finrosc grinned and said:

"I'm very glad to accept the invitation, but I think we have a little business to handle first."

He pointed at Belhast who was now blinking and giggling. Gutrune stepped beside the fortune-teller and laid her hand on his shoulder. She asked worriedly:

"Are you well?"

The answer was cheerful enough:

"Yessshhh, nuthin' to comlain off!"

Gutrune's tone changed to exasperated:

"Perhaps for you, but I really think you should rise and go to bed."

Even as she was speaking, Belhast's eyes glazed over. His upper body began to bend, and suddenly he dropped onto the tabletop with a dull thump. Gutrune frowned.

"Great, now we must carry him! I wonder what has he drunk?"

Finrosc answered:

"Perhaps those merchants bought him brandy. This is not the first time I've seen him black out after too much of that stuff. Poor bloke has never got the head for it."

"Then why does he drink it?"

Finrosc's grin became sarcastic:

"You must ask that from him, not me. Anyway, let's pick him up and put him to bed."

Gutrune smiled at him in a way that made his blood course faster.

"Yes. And then we can concentrate on each other."

Finrosc only nodded, momentarily muted by her straightforward manner. She was quite different from the Gondorian women, but that made her only the more enticing. He was tired of the games he was compelled to play with every girl he tried to seduce. Fair words, serenades, gifts, empty promises… All that and more besides, only to get a moment of hurried, guilty pleasure in the best case and ridicule and scorn in the worst. That had been exciting in the beginning, but after a few years it had became a dull routine. Finrosc had long since realized that every 'adventure' he had was just like the previous one, with only a little variation. But Gutrune wasn't like the others, she knew what she wanted and made it known, too. Briefly, Finrosc wondered whether he or Gutrune was the real seducer in this instance. But he dismissed that thought soon: What did it matter? The coming night proved to be pleasurable indeed and that was all he needed to know.

In his mind Finrosc compared her with the small, dark type of women that was most common in Gondor. With her long and lean, but strong limbs and her large, shining eyes Gutrune was like a graceful deer beside a throng of small songbirds. Pleased with the metaphor, Finrosc resolved to include it into his next song. After that mental detour he concentrated on the task at hand, grasping the now snoring Belhast's shoulder.

"Gutrune, could you help me a bit?"

"To be sure."

Together they hauled Belhast on his feet. The man seemed to weigh like a sack full of stones, and Finrosc snapped:

"Hasty, even try to walk, curse it!"

Belhast only groaned, but was roused to some degree. He still leaned heavily on his two companions, but at least he took a few halting steps as they dragged him to the stairs. Ascending to the second floor was a painfully slow process, as Belhast halted every few steps, unable to go on. The third time they stopped, Belhast half opened his eyes and spoke with difficulty. His voice was like a sick child's wail:

"Why you draggin' me? I wanna shleep…"

Finrosc's reply was terse:

"You can sleep all you want when we have got your drunken arse upstairs. Don't whine but move!"

Belhast mumbled:

"Verrry well, verrry well then. But Rosshhy, you mussst know… Mead tasted funny."

"Yes, and so what?"

Belhast evidently became annoyed:

"Idiot, the mead! Don't you get it? It tasted so funny. It was…"

His voice trailed off. Before Finrosc could answer, Gutrune shook Belhast and said:

"Oh, funny or not, but now you should really move if you want to rest later."

Belhast gave her a weird look and shook his head vigorously from side to side like some kind of a puppet. He seemed to be about to speak, but his eyes closed and his chin dropped to his chest. He was asleep again, and didn't wake up even when Finrosc slapped him, a bit harder perhaps than was necessary. Uttering an obscene curse, and with Gutrune's help, Finrosc lifted Belhast on his back and up they went.

Fortunately the brothers' room was just two doors away from the staircase. Finrosc carried Belhast inside and lowered him on the bed that was nearer the door. He considered taking Belhast's jacket and boots off, but decided it was too much trouble. Instead, he merely opened Belhast's collar and turned him on his side, so that it was easier for Belhast to breathe. Then he rose and turned to Gutrune who was standing behind him. He shrugged apologetically.

"Well, usually he's not that fast to pass out. Now that he's taken care of, what about we went to your room?"

The look in Gutrune's eyes was speaking more than her words when she said:

"Sounds good."

------

Gutrune's room was just one door away, and before a minute had passed they had entered it. The instant the door closed, Gutrune wound her arms around Finrosc. She gently bent his head downwards and placed a hungry, lingering kiss on his lips. Although a little startled at first, Finrosc passionately answered the kiss, taking Gutrune into his embrace. The feel of her lips was wonderful for him, and he wondered if this all was but a dream. But even if it was, he didn't want to wake up.

His hands roamed over her body, feeling every curve of it. He was now more excited than he could remember having been for a long time. Gutrune seemed to feel it, too, since she suddenly broke from his embrace. With a flustered face she laughed:

"Now, slowly there! We have all night before us."

She walked to the table and picked a bottle of wine up.

"Excellent, Butterbur remembered that I ordered this. How about a glass of wine?"

Finrosc managed to control his racing heart and replied:

"Yes, please."

She turned around and he heard the blop of a bottle being unstopped, then the brief murmur of flowing liquid. Then Gutrune turned to him again, offering a wooden cup full of red wine to him.

"I'm sorry about this manner of serving, but Butterbur seemingly forgot the goblets."

"It's of no consequence, none at all," Finrosc hastened to say.

At a gesture from Gutrune he sat down on the bed and took a sip. The wine tasted excellent. There was a familiar side taste to it, though, one that Finrosc knew but couldn't remember from where.

"I must sometime have drunk a bottle from the same vintage or same vineyard," he thought, concentrating again on Gutrune.

"This is very good, I must say. This stuff must be from Gondor, though. I don't think they grow wine grapes here in Bree."

Gutrune nodded, and for a moment they both fell silent. Finrosc was still thinking how to continue the conversation when Gutrune said:

"By the way, there's a little hot in here, don't you think? Do you mind if I make myself a little more comfortable?"

"Oh, not at all. Go ahead."

She stood up and without more ado opened her jacket and flung it aside, revealing a rather tight-fitting light green tunic under it. For a moment Finrosc admired the way her breasts bulged under the garment, scarcely paying heed to Gutrune's words:

"It's a little better. But still, I think there's still a bit stuffy in here."

With swift fingers she undid the buttons of her skirt and let it fall at her feet. Finrosc's eyes suddenly wandered downwards to Gutrune's bare thighs. Even though perhaps a little too thin, they were well worth a look still, and Finrosc fully grasped the opportunity. Hearing the amused cough of Gutrune, however, he suddenly remembered his manners. He drained his cup in one gulp and said:

"Yes, it is indeed a little too warm."

He didn't need to lie, since he felt like he was suffocating from the heat of his own lust and the warmth emanating from the fireplace. Accordingly, he unbuttoned his doublet and set it beside him. Meanwhile, his eyes didn't leave Gutrune. She, on her part, leaned back in her chair in the most natural manner, as if it wasn't anything unusual to appear half-naked before men.

"I wonder if all women in Rhovanion are like this. If so, I might consider a trip there," Finrosc mused. Then he found his tongue again:

"Isn't that chair a bit uncomfortable? There's room on the bed, too."

Gutrune came over to the bed and sat beside him.

"Yes, it's indeed softer than the chair. What if we tested how it feels to lie on it?"

She grasped him and lied down, bringing him with her. Her lips pressed against his again, and for a moment he was stunned. She was certainly in the lead now, but that didn't bother him a bit. He felt her thighs, groping them and raising the hem of her tunic ever higher. But then Gutrune disentangled herself from him again and rose. Finrosc was disappointed:

"Didn't you like it? Was I too rough or something?"

Gutrune's reply was husky and breathless:

"No, no, all is fine. But I just remembered I have prepared a surprise for you."

"A surprise?" Finrosc's tone changed to playful:

"So, you planned this in advance? Truly, I don't know if I should feel flattered or trapped."

She laughed.

"You must admit that there seldom was a more pleasant trap."

"Yes, fair huntress." He rose on his elbows, but Gutrune gently pressed him on his back.

"Oh, just lie comfortably, please. And close your eyes, otherwise you'll spoil my surprise."

He did as he was told, smiling. He had no idea what Gutrune meant but surely it would be delightful. He heard rustling of cloth and stirred a little. Gutrune spoke again:

"Relax. Only a moment."

Finrosc spread his limbs a bit, enjoying the softness of the bed. Strange, how good a real bed felt for after a long time in woods. He suddenly became very sleepy, but tried to fight it. It was futile, though, since at length his arms and legs started to feel numb. All his excitement gradually wore off and was replaced by a soft, soothing feeling. He tried to open his eyes, but the lids were heavy as lead. He wasn't alarmed, however, for the only thing he could think of was sleep. He thought he heard a murmur like a quiet song, but wasn't sure anymore if it was dream or reality. In any case, it didn't matter. He let go, and slept.

------

When he awoke, he was very cold. His eyes opened to see a heavy darkness. He had no idea how long he had slept, but in any case it was still night. He felt around him with his hand, but grasped only crumpled sheets. His head was strangely heavy, and at first he couldn't collect his thoughts. After a while, though, he remembered what had happened before he slept, and his cheeks flushed.

"Oh, no, what will Gutrune say? I must have spoiled everything. How could I fall asleep?" he thought, sitting up. He called softly into the darkness:

"Gutrune, are you here?"

There was no answer. He called again, now a bit louder, but again the only reply was silence. Finrosc frowned.

"Where can she be?"

He rose to his feet and groped for a candle. He found one and struck light. In the faint flicker of the candle, he looked around and saw he was alone in the room. There was no trace of Gutrune to be seen. In fact, her travelling gear had disappeared, too. That puzzled Finrosc still more. While he mused he fingered his belt with his free hand. Suddenly, a cold sweat broke from his forehead. With trembling fingers he put the candle on the table and turned his left side to the light. He had felt right. His heavy purse had disappeared from his belt, and his money had gone with it.

------

Read and review, please.


	21. Chapter 21: The Rough Riders

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

Chapter 21: The Rough Riders

Belhast walked on a sunny meadow, admiring blossoming flowers and beautiful trees around him. He was more carefree than he could remember ever having been. There was nothing he had to do, nothing to break the blissful peace he felt. It was like he had been transported to a summer Sunday of his childhood. Belhast almost expected to hear his mother calling him to eat any moment. The fact that she had been long dead didn't even occur to him. He continued to stroll amidst the wonderful scenery with a leisure pace, smiling to himself.

But suddenly the ground began to shake, and a rude noise invaded the silent meadow. There was urgency and anger in the noise that both puzzled and frightened Belhast. The ground shook so violently he couldn't stand, but tried to crawl to a hiding place. The noise grew louder and formed into yelled words:

"Get up! Now, you bastard!"

Belhast, now panicky and thoroughly confused, whined:

"Why? Let me alone!"

But the voice continued relentlessly cursing him, and suddenly all went dark. Belhast felt the ground give way under him, but before he could fall rough hands shot out from the darkness and grabbed him.

------

Panicking, Belhast jerked up and flailed around with his hands, trying to shake the grip away. He succeeded and rolled away, only to thump against a wooden wall. Dazed, he opened his eyes and saw that he was lying on a bed. Turning on his back, he noticed Finrosc standing beside the bed. It was still dark, Finrosc's features shadowy in the flickering candlelight. The bard was rubbing his forehead and snapped:

"Are you mad? Why on earth did you hit me?"

"Uh, sorry, I was dreaming," was all Belhast could manage. Now that he was awake he began to feel miserable. His throbbing headache mingled with a slight nausea and a foul taste in his mouth. But before he could dwell long on these uncomfortable facts, or the nagging feeling that something strange had happened last night, Finrosc spoke:

"Listen. Gutrune's gone. She stole my purse."

"Good riddance. We got away cheaply," Belhast grumbled, sitting up.

"Anything else, or can I go back to sleep? I have the worst hangover in a long time."

Even as he spoke, his eyes wandered to the corner where his pack was. The straps were hanging open. Suddenly a cold, empty feeling settled on his stomach and crept to his whole body. Sweat broke from the back of his neck and forehead.

"Roscy, did you open my pack last night?"

"No, why?"

Belhast sprang up and hastened to check his gear. Flinging back the flap, he went through the contents. His spare clothes, razor and other accessories were undisturbed, as was the tight-fitted wooden box where he kept his cards. But the starry cloak was nowhere to be seen. The corners of his eyes twitching, Belhast rummaged through the pack again. Still, no cloak, not even a thread.

At first Belhast felt his chest constricting, but then a sudden rage took over him. He jumped to his feet and kicked the backpack across the room, so that the things inside flew to every direction.

"Mordor's curse! I'll break her neck!"

Finrosc asked uneasily:

"You don't mean…?"

"Yes, I do mean! The filthy bitch has stolen our money!"

Belhast turned to face his brother with an ugly snarl.

"And whose fault is that, anyway?"

"What? You are accusing me?"

"Yes, you idiot! Was it I or you who insisted keeping her in our company?"

Now Finrosc was also getting angry:

"Oh, shut your hole already! How could I have known she would do something like this?"

Belhast stepped closer, shaking his fist. His voice rose to a furious yell:

"You could have, if you weren't that keen after her cunt!"

"That's quite enough! Who was it, after all, who made her suspicious? You, and your silly act in that inn!" Finrosc mimicked Belhast's voice:

"'The money is quite safe, she has no idea.' Now who said that, you or me?"

Belhast's face reddened. He violently grabbed the front of Finrosc's shirt, raising his fist.

"Why, you bastard! I'll bash your face in!"

He would have hit Finrosc, but a calm, deep voice interrupted him:

"Gentlemen, I understand you are agitated, but I do not think fighting with each other would mend anything."

Both men wheeled around and saw Eglamir leaning on the doorframe in a relaxed manner, a hint of a smile playing on his thin lips. Finrosc spat to him:

"And what is it to you if we do? Mind your own business!"

"I would have, but your little argument woke me up. It is your luck there are no other tenants in this floor, otherwise you would have even more audience."

He coughed dryly, and went on:

"Now, should you not cease this silly squabbling and take some measures to recover your property?"

Belhast and Finrosc looked at each other, embarrassed. No words were necessary; they knew the Dunadan was right. Belhast turned to him.

"But how, then? She could be anywhere by now. I don't even know what time it is."

Eglamir replied:

"It is about two hours before sunrise. And as for where your fair companion is, I gathered from your talk that she is not familiar with these parts. Is that so?"

"Yes, but there are four directions she could have fled to."

"Not necessarily. She must go to east, sooner or later, and that means the Great Road. She does not know the forest paths and shortcuts, so she must stay on the road. I deem you could overtake her if you are fast enough. I do not think she has taken another road to elude pursuit, but if she has, you have even better chances. You can just set an ambush along the Road and wait until she must head east again."

Finrosc rubbed his nose.

"That sounds correct enough. If she hasn't stolen Dummy we can catch her." He stopped his musing and looked sharply at Eglamir.

"But why are you advising us, anyway? You must have some reason."

Eglamir grinned, revealing the gap in his teeth.

"Ah, I am only trying to help my fellow creatures. Besides, I hate stupidity and indecision. It is always a sad sight when grown men cannot help themselves."

The slight scorn in his voice did not escape Belhast and Finrosc. They weren't in the mood to argue, however. Instead, they collected their things as fast as they could and threw their cloaks over their shoulders. Just when they were putting their packs on their backs, Finrosc seemed to remember something and opened his pack once again. After a moment of searching he took an odd item in his hand. Belhast saw that it was a smallish tubular bag filled with sand, about eight inches long. He raised his left eyebrow at it. Finrosc saw that and spoke:

"It might come handy, you know."

"Indeed. Well, let's go."

Shouldering their luggage they marched silently past Eglamir, who stepped aside from the door, also without a word. There was a grimness and determination in their faces that would have driven all blood from Gutrune's face if she could have seen it.

------

They sneaked through the dark inn, fearing they would wake somebody up. The last thing they wanted was to be caught while escaping without paying their bill. It was their luck, therefore, that most of the tenants were still sleeping their drunkenness away. They did not meet anyone on their way to the front door. Belhast raised the latch and opened the door as silently as he could, and Finrosc slipped out. He flitted to the shadow of the wall and peered to every direction. Then he whispered:

"You can come. No one's near."

Belhast came out and began to close the door slowly and quietly. A sudden gust of wind, however, slammed it shut with a dull thud. The sound was so quiet that it wouldn't roused any attention during day, but now it sounded like a clap of thunder to frightened ears. The brothers winced and pressed their backs tightly against the wall, listening intently. For some time their eyes shifted to and fro, especially to the windows overhead, but saw no one. Finally they were satisfied no one had awakened. Keeping close to the wall they walked to the stable, anxious to see if their faithful beast of burden still was there.

When inside the stable, they saw it was pitch black, even more so than in the inn. Belhast closed the door behind them and struck light, with a fluttering heart and listening for any sounds from outside. When a lantern hanging from the ceiling was lit, he could observe his surroundings. The stable was fairly big, built for twenty or thirty horses. The stalls were well kept and there was clean straw meticulously spread on the floor. Saddles, bridles and all kinds of riding equipment hanged from the walls. Without wasting more time the looked at each stall and easily found Dummy and its saddle. When Belhast saw Dummy, a weight seemed to lift away from his chest. Besides the fact that catching Gutrune was now possible, Belhast had grown quite fond of the animal. Losing Dummy along with the money would have been like an insult added to injury. Belhast patted Dummy on its muzzle, murmuring:

"Well, old boy, ready to stretch some muscles? We have a thieving bitch to catch, just that you know."

It was the work of only a moment to ready the horse for the journey. But even as Belhast opened the stall door to lead Dummy out, Finrosc whispered:

"You know, I just realized we can't both ride Dummy if we want to be fast enough. Shouldn't we take that one, too?"

He pointed to the horse next to their gelding, a brown mare looking like a decent runner. Belhast shook his head.

"I don't think so. Our unpaid bill is bad enough, but a horse theft could lead us to the gallows. Too risky."

"But if we don't take it, Gutrune might escape. Do you really want to wander in a strange country without money and food?"

Belhast had to admit the bard had a point.

"Oh, very well then. Saddle it, and off we go."

Belhast went to the door and peered through its cracks to keep guard, while Finrosc searched for a saddle and reins. He found them soon and saddled the mare, after which he led both horses to the door. Meanwhile, Belhast had cut a worn sack to eight pieces, which he held in his hands. When Finrosc came to the door, Belhast stopped him:

"A moment."

He raised the legs of the horses and with nimble fingers wrapped the pieces of cloth around the hooves. Finrosc nodded approvingly, to which Belhast replied:

"Just a little trick I once learnt from an old soldier."

Then he took Dummy's bridle and they led the horses outside. They glanced uneasily to the windows facing the stable. It felt like spying eyes peered through every curtain and shutter. The sackcloth muted the sound of horses' hooves, but in the silence of the night their steps seemed to fall like hammer strokes.

Accordingly, they walked away from the inn with a brisk step and breathed in relief when they reached the shadows of a narrow alley. They started to make their way to the gate, but it was harder than they had expected. They stumbled many times over all kinds of rubbish that had been thrown on the streets, uttering muffled curses in the process. Still, it was not long before they reached the main street and started to descend the slope towards the gate.

In five minutes they already stood before the gatekeeper's hut, which huddled against the palisade. The gate was still shut, and the brothers stopped, unsure what to do. Belhast whispered:

"What now? Shall we wake the gatekeeper?"

"No. Let's try to unbar the gate. Better if no one sees us leaving," was the quick answer.

But they didn't have time to put this plan into action, since the hut's door opened and the gatekeeper came outside. By his looks his mood was anything but sunshine and butterflies. Seeing the brothers he grumbled:

"I thought I heard something, and seems I was right. Can't you leave a poor man sleeping in peace? What's with the damned hurry, anyway? First that woman, and now you!"

Belhast's ears pricked up.

"A woman?"

"Yes, a bit too tall for my taste, perhaps, but a woman nonetheless. But what is this craze with travelling by night, now? Can't you wait the sunrise?"

Belhast replied, taking a step closer:

"Actually, we can't. Listen, she has something that belongs to us. When did she go through the gate? And which way did she go?"

The gatekeeper pondered for a moment.

"Um, must have been near three hours ago. I really didn't pay attention to where she was heading. Might have been east. Yes, east it was." A sudden suspicion flashed on his features.

"But how do I know you speak true? Who are you, anyway?"

Belhast stepped again closer, saying:

"We are just poor travellers, and we can't really prove our words. But please believe me, it's very important that we overtake her."

The gatekeeper raised higher the candle he was holding and replied gruffly:

"Yes, I know you now. You were those who came last night, right?" Then he looked more carefully and exclaimed:

"Hey, didn't you have only one horse then? And if that isn't one of Barnabas's horses, I am a goblin! How did you get it?"

Belhast answered almost without a pause for thought:

"Oh, we bought the mare. We needed another horse and Master Butterbur was all too happy to sell it. Now could you just let us through?"

The gatekeeper's tone became sarcastic:

"Sure he was! Do you think I'm stupid? Butterbur doesn't sell his horses, at least not in the middle of the night or to the likes of you! Oh no, you are not going anywhere before this matter is cleared. In fact, I think I'll speed up the process."

He reached for the alarm horn on his belt, but Belhast sprang forwards like a striking hawk. He grabbed the man's throat with both hands as hard as he could. The candle dropped to the snowy ground where it instantly went out. The gatekeeper tried to shout, but only a pitiful gurgle escaped his lips. Then he tried to tear himself away from the strangling grip, but Finrosc was faster. The bard whipped the sandbag out of his pocket and stepped behind the gatekeeper. One swift blow to the back of the head, and the poor man went limp. Finrosc kissed the bag.

"Good work, my little friend. I only wish it was Gutrune instead of that poor sap."

Then he grasped the gatekeeper's arm, and Belhast and he dragged the man to the hut. They lowered him on the floor, and Belhast whispered:

"That was neat and fast, Roscy. I don't think anyone heard the scuffle." He poked the unconscious man with the toe of his boot.

"Should we tie him up?"

"Nah, he's out of picture for some hours at least. When he wakes up we are far away."

Finrosc walked out of the door, followed by Belhast. They shut the door behind them, and set to open the gate. They raised the planks barring it away and set them aside with as little noise as they could manage. When they pushed the gate open, they had to peer constantly over their shoulders because the hinges creaked and squeaked abominably. Every creak made their hearts go faster, but no one came to investigate the noise. Finally the gate stood wide open, revealing a snow-covered stretch of land and the frozen road ahead. The village continued slumbering peacefully when the brothers took the cloths away from their horses' hooves. They jumped on the backs of the steeds and spurred them with their heels. The horses didn't need another command, and the brothers galloped out of the gate into the looming darkness. The expression on their faces didn't bode well for Gutrune.

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	22. Chapter 22: The Battle of the Crooks

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

Chapter 22: The Battle of the Three Crooks

The brothers let the horses gallop for a few miles, not speaking a word during that time. At length, however, they reined their steeds to conserve the animals' strength. The horses settled for a moderate trot, which they seemed to maintain without difficulty. In fact, Dummy seemed even enjoy the opportunity to get some real exercise after days of boring walking. The gelding bore the extra weight of Belhast well, a point that pleased him. Finrosc's steed was more reluctant, perhaps not knowing what it should think of the unknown rider. It behaved well enough, though, and kept easily up with Dummy, being less encumbered. It probably could have outrun the other horse, but for the moment was content to follow Dummy.

Now that they were going slower, the men surveyed their surroundings. There had been slight snowfall around midnight, but the sky had cleared since and they could see tolerably well in the cold starlight reflecting from the snow. The Road was empty save them, and the woods lining it were still. There was no movement amidst the dark shadows of the trees, not even a bird or a squirrel. Finally Finrosc broke the silence:

"Sorry for that scene earlier."

"Oh, it's nothing really. It is I who should apologize for accusing you. I was pretty angry, you see."

"Yeah, I do see."

For a while the only sound was the rhythmical thud of the hooves, but then Finrosc continued ruefully:

"Such accursed luck! I mean, you passing out and I falling asleep in the middle of lovemaking. She couldn't have hoped for a better opportunity."

Belhast gave him a one-sided, dry smile.

"She didn't have to hope for one, Roscy, since she could create it. Tell me, did she give you anything to drink?"

Finrosc was puzzled at first.

"Yes, some wine. Why…" Suddenly something seemed to light up in his head.

"Ah, of course! She drugged us, right?"

"Almost certainly. The last thing I remember was a strange taste in the mead she offered me. Now when I think of it, it was the same sleep potion she gave us in that haunted cabin."

Finrosc nodded and replied a little embarrassed:

"Uh, you actually tried to warn me."

"I did?"

"Yes, but you were so vague I didn't understand it."

"No great wonder in that. I felt so drunk I couldn't understand even my own thoughts."

Belhast chuckled sourly.

"But well, this just proves that mother was right. 'Don't take anything from strangers,' she used to say when we were boys."

Finrosc smiled.

"Yes, and father often said to me: 'Mark my words, that greed of yours leads you to a sorry end one of these days.'"

They laughed shortly, but didn't really feel that amused. Worry gnawed at them still. Belhast wondered if they would really catch Gutrune. She could have lied to them about not knowing the lands around Bree. Perhaps she had already left the road for narrow forest-paths. If so, catching her would prove difficult even on horseback. He was still turning these possibilities in his mind when Finrosc exclaimed:

"Look!"

He stopped his horse and pointed to the road. Belhast reined Dummy in and looked closely. In the fresh snow there were obvious footprints, going eastwards. Finrosc was excited:

"It must be her!"

Belhast shook his head.

"It might, and it might be not. I'll take a look."

Belhast dismounted and stooped low. In the gloom he could see that the traces were certainly made by a human being. He placed his own footprint beside one of them and compared the result. The earlier traces were clearly smaller and narrower than his boot. Frowning, he touched the bottom of one print with his fingers, running them along it.

"A woman or a youngster has made these while walking fast. I can't say exactly how long ago, but the outline is still sharp. Roscy, what kind of soles did Gutrune's boots have?"

Finrosc shrugged.

"I don't know, probably leather. I didn't ask. Even my interest in women has its limits."

"Well, it doesn't really matter. Look, there are marks left by a staff. I never was a good tracker, but if these aren't Gutrune's traces, it must be a doppelganger or something. Let's go, and keep an eye for further signs."

He mounted again and they rode on with a good trot. They didn't speak anymore, since they had to survey the edges of the road, in case Gutrune had chosen to leave it. But there were no such signs; the snow beside the road and under the trees was smooth and undisturbed. The narrow footprints remained steadfastly in the middle of the road. It seemed as if Gutrune had had no other consideration than a speedy escape. The foster-brothers' spirits lifted, since they knew their prey couldn't be far.

After they had ridden for half an hour, the first signs of coming dawn began to show. The stars on the eastern sky grew dimmer, and one by one they went out, even as the darkness on the sky gave way to shades of lighter blue. In the half-light the brothers could see two masses of rock ahead. The ancient roadmakers had cut through a hill here, and the way ran along the bottom of the deep cut.

They rode between the cliffs, not even slowing. The road was wide enough for even two carriages, so they could continue going abreast. Even though the sun was already slowly reaching the horizon, there was still night between the high walls. The men were unable to see anything but the faint white of the frozen ground and the shadows of each other.

But then the sun finally peeked over the eastern hills, almost directly ahead. A sudden flood of light invaded the cut, and the brothers were dazed for a moment. Belhast was still blinking when Finrosc shouted:

"There she is!"

Belhast raised his head and saw Gutrune. She was less than a hundred yards ahead, her dark outline showing clearly against the light. She was near the end of the cut and had not heard the sound of the hooves because of the slight east wind drowning all noises. But now she suddenly realized that two riders were behind her. She turned around; her eyes wide and mouth open in surprise. Her obvious fear and dismay gave Belhast a moment of grim satisfaction. She was trapped.

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The brothers let out a whoop of triumph and spurred their horses onward. For the briefest of moments Gutrune's eyes seemed to move to the stone walls, but they were too smooth and steep to climb. Accordingly, she wheeled around again and started to run with the speed of desperation. The men were amazed at how fast she was, as she raced for the opening between the cliffs. But of course she was no match for horses, and the men overtook her just as she reached the open ground.

Slowing a little, they rode so that she ended up between them. They grabbed her by her armpits, raising her from the ground with a jerk. Finrosc grinned at her savagely, jeering:

"In need of a ride, my lady?"

Gutrune kicked and struggled, shrieking in fright. That made the men to laugh uproariously. Belhast felt the glee of a successful hunter, and enjoyed every moment. Gutrune would pay for the theft and the fright she had given them.

Just after the cut the road descended a shallow slope and forded a wide stream. As they rode towards the water, Belhast felt his arm tiring. He looked at Finrosc, who nodded to him, understanding his meaning. They didn't slow when they rode to the stream, icy water flying to all directions. Gutrune was still dangling between them, screaming:

"Let me go! Let me go, you bastards!"

Belhast replied dryly:

"Your wish is my command, lady."

He and Finrosc released their grasp, and Gutrune fell to the stream face first. Her scream was drowned in a splash of water, and she was submerged. The men rode on to the opposite bank, where they jumped down from the saddle. Finrosc stumbled and fell when he dismounted, but Belhast quickly flung his pack on the ground and let his cloak fall beside it. He turned towards the river and saw Gutrune raising herself from the water. The sack on her back was hindering her, but she already supported herself with her arms and was tenaciously struggling to her feet. Her soaked hair covered her face, and the wet braid hung limply over her left shoulder.

Belhast was still too angry and agitated to wait for Finrosc, so he rushed to the water and waded towards the Northwoman. The water reached to his knees, but at the moment he didn't feel the cold at all. She didn't reach Gutrune, however, before she was already standing. She picked up her staff, which she had convulsively grasped during the ride, and faced Belhast. He snapped:

"Very well, let's end this game. Give the cloak back, and then you can go."

Gutrune raised her staff, a defiant light burning in her eyes. She shook her hair away from her face, revealing a bruise on her cheek.

"No."

Belhast knotted his fists.

"What?"

Gutrune's voice was as hard as her face when she replied:

"I said no. If you want your rag, try and get it!"

Belhast waded closer, and raised his fist.

"Come now, can't you say anything less worn? Don't make a scene. Just give it back. We are two against you, remember?"

Gutrune laughed scornfully, pointing behind Belhast.

"And a precious pair you are! It seems it's just you and me."

Belhast looked over his shoulder and cursed. Finrosc was still on the ground, struggling with his cloak. He had left the straps of his pack too long, and when he fell they had entangled with his wide cloak, arresting his arms. Belhast exclaimed:

"Roscy, you fool! Get up!"

"I'm trying, curse it!" Finrosc answered. He ceased moving suddenly and cried:

"Look out!"

Belhast turned his head partially and saw Gutrune was rushing towards him, staff high in air.

"Oh shit!"

He tried to evade the blow, but succeeded only partially. The staff struck his temple painfully. His cap absorbed some of the force, but the impact made him reel anyway. A flash of searing light danced inside his closed eyelids. His eyes were filled with tears of pain, even as he stumbled backwards. He wiped his eyes with his sleeves, just in time to see Gutrune's second onslaught. This time he jumped aside, and the staff struck only water. The combatants remained standing maybe six feet apart. For a moment they just stared at each other, Belhast grimacing in pain and Gutrune panting slightly. Then Belhast said through clenched teeth:

"That was stupid, Gutrune. You have your last chance now. Give the money, or this will become ugly."

Gutrune responded by attacking once again. She plunged onwards like a snake, trying to stab Belhast with the iron-shod end of her staff. This time, however, he was ready, and managed to strike the staff off course. Gutrune lost her balance momentarily and Belhast got inside her guard. He struck her with his fist. It was too quick for him to have all his strength behind the punch, but it hit her jaw with a satisfying thud. Gutrune let out a muffled sound and reeled away.

Belhast drew his belt knife, remembering it only now. He fidgeted with it nervously, biting his lips. For a moment he hesitated, torn between two. He had not imagined the situation would go this far. Besides, he was very unwilling to kill anybody, let alone a woman. But the money had to be recovered if he and Finrosc were to succeed in their quest, there was no question about it. Steeling himself and pointing the knife at her, he spoke:

"You asked for this. Give up, or I'll-"

Gutrune's staff whirling through air interrupted him. It slammed against his wrist, sending the knife flying.

"You talk too much."

Rubbing his wrist, Belhast stepped back. The stinging pain and Gutrune's mocking voice infuriated him suddenly even further. He stormed at Gutrune, snarling:

"Bitch!"

She had not enough time to react, and Belhast struck her stomach. She moaned in pain and bent almost double, but didn't fall. When Belhast stepped closer to strike her down, she suddenly straightened and delivered a desperate punch to his jaw. He was momentarily stunned and Gutrune gripped her staff with both hands, striking across Belhast's face.

Now it was Belhast's turn to bend, since he had to clear his stinging nose of a rush of blood. He still sneezed and blinked, half dazed by the blow, when Gutrune struck again. She brought her elbow down on the back of Belhast's head with full force. He fell to his knees, wailing:

"Roscy, help! She kills me!"

It seemed indeed so, since Gutrune now savagely kicked him in the chest. If she had had soldier's boots soled with steel nails the kick could well have broken some of Belhast's ribs. As it was, Gutrune's soft ankle-boots were still enough to drive the air from his lungs. He fell backwards into the water, gasping and coughing.

At the same time Finrosc finally had managed to free himself and sprang to his feet. Seeing Belhast falling, he ran towards the river, crying:

"Hold on! I'm coming!"

His voice alerted Gutrune, who wheeled around to face the new threat. Finrosc tried to tackle her down, but she stepped aside and whirled the staff above her head. She let it fall against Finrosc's head. He cried out in pain and retreated to avoid subsequent blows.

When this was going on, Belhast struggled to get up. His chest burned and breathing was very hard, but he had enough wits left to avoid drowning. With a violent jerk he hauled himself to a sitting position. Taking a few deep breaths, he managed to get on his knees and crawled towards Gutrune on all fours. He tasted the blood trickling from his nose and his whole body ached abominably. But he saw now his chance and didn't intend to let it go.

Seeing Belhast rise, Finrosc made a new attack against Gutrune. He took the sandbag from his pocket and lunged forwards. He made a sweeping blow that partially caught Gutrune. The bag hit her forehead. It didn't make her pass out, as it would have had it hit the temple, but it was enough to stun her for a while. Eyes shut, she flailed with her staff, striking Finrosc in his knee.

Now was Belhast's moment. He sprang towards Gutrune, taking her knees into a tight embrace. She lost her foothold and fell on her face, sending the cold water flying. After her initial surprise, however, she recovered her wits and started to struggle, kicking and writhing. Belhast tightened his grip and shouted:

"Get her!"

Finrosc obeyed instantly and hobbled next to them. He sat on Gutrune's back and grabbed her braid. Pressed against the river bottom by both the sack on his back and the man's weight, Gutrune had to almost cease her struggles. The fight wasn't wholly out of her, however, and she futilely tried to pound Finrosc's legs and body with her fists. He gave her a feral grin.

"Now, is that a way for a nice girl to behave?"

"You son… of a… swine!" came from her mouth as a breathless gasp. Finrosc shrugged.

"Oh, well then."

He tightened his grip on her braid and forced her head under the water. Despite of her struggles he kept it there for a few moments. Then he yanked her head up and asked:

"More sensible now?"

"Dirty bas… bastard!"

He dipped her face again into the stream and kept it there for a little longer. When he let her raise her head again, she gasped and spat water out of her mouth.

"Well?" Finrosc asked

She turned her head to look at him. Her eyes were full of fear and pain, but she panted:

"Very well… You won… Do what you want."

"Good."

Finrosc rose with difficulty and Belhast did likewise, releasing his grip. Gutrune tried to get to her feet, but fell instantly back to the stream. Sighing, the brothers grabbed her shoulders and dragged her to the shore, puffing and panting in the process. They let her down and she crumbled to the ground, limp as a corpse. Finrosc lie down beside her, breathing heavily and nursing his injured knee.

Belhast kneeled over her and slid her sack from her back. He opened it and rummaged through the contents. He found instantly both his and Finrosc's purses and, sighing in relief, he tucked them into his pockets. The cloak was also there, wrapped inside a spare cloak and now as soaked with water as everything else inside. With frozen fingers he fished the garment out and pawed it. The coins were still inside the lining. He heaved a deep breath and let the sack fall. He sat heavily on the snow, setting the cloak next to him.

For some time he just sat there, looking upwards and taking fresh air into his lungs. Now that the excitement of the fight was gone, he felt miserable and empty. Hunger gnawed his battered body; he had not eaten since the previous night. All his muscles ached, a dull, throbbing pain that made him feel like he had been beaten with a smith's hammer.

He looked at Gutrune, who lie before his feet. She had now turned on her side and wept with loud bitter sobs, hugging her knees close to her body. Dark bruises were developing on her face. Even seeing this, Belhast felt very little. No sensation of triumph or joy at least. If he felt anything, it was pity for himself, Finrosc and perhaps even for Gutrune. He turned his eyes wearily to his side. The cloak huddled there, the silver stars winking at him in the sunlight. It was as if they laughed at him. He felt very cold and wet after the bath in the stream, and picked the cloak up. Grunting, he threw it over his shoulders. Even if wet, it helped a little and some warmth crept to his body again. He knew that a fire and dry clothes were now vital, but was too tired to care. Cupping some snow in his hand he wiped the dried blood away from under his nose and the short stubble on his chin. Sourly, he thought:

"To think that back in Gondor this little trip seemed such a great idea…"

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	23. Chapter 23: Cold Words

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

Author's Note: The two soldier characters who make a cameo in this chapter are from a story by another author, to whom I have given permission to use some of my characters and settings. The story is still in a planning stage, so I will clarify more at a later Author's Note. At the moment, suffice it to say that my story and his will have separate storylines and will just overlap at a few places. You can read both, or either one separately without confusion.

* * *

Chapter 23: Cold Words

A faint clatter of hooves made Belhast to raise his head. A panic flooded him momentarily:

"They have sent a mob after us!"

But when he looked, there was only one horse approaching the ford. It was a magnificent beast, a black and tall stallion that had steely muscles and not a drop too much of fat in its body. Its gait was proud and tireless. A true warhorse it was with its long limbs and strong chest. Two short javelins protruded from a short saddle holster, with a quiver of arrows at the other side only adding to the military appearance.

Belhast now looked at the rider and his alarm changed to relief as Eglamir's voice called out:

"Good morning, my friends! I see that you have succeeded in your quest."

"Well, yes, if you can call it with that grand a name," grunted Belhast in reply. He poked Finrosc, who also now turned his head to see the dunadan. Gutrune, for her part, remained lying on the ground and sobbing faintly.

Belhast struggled to his feet, sliding the money-cloak from his back and folding it to his armpit. He watched as Eglamir crossed the ford on his horse and dismounted, asking only after that:

"How come you are here?"

"I had a few little tasks to finish, but not wanting to abandon my travelling companions I followed you as soon as I could. Only natural, is it not?"

Finrosc replied, still lying on his side:

"Yes, if you really were our travelling companion. We didn't have time to vote properly on that, you know."

Eglamir smiled faintly.

"Ah, but I already had voted to accompany you and I think my vote counts well enough."

Finrosc only snorted, but was obviously too tired to argue. So he only raised himself to a sitting position, cursing his hurt knee under his breath. He gasped from pain and then spoke:

"So, we have got the money back, but what next? There will soon be a bunch of vigilantes after us, if they already aren't on our trail. Quick, Belhast! Help me to gather our stuff and off we ride!"

Belhast stepped to assist him up, but then Eglamir spoke.

"No need to hurry. No one will be after you."

Belhast tapped his forehead and exclaimed:

"Are you insane? We robbed a horse and knocked out a man! What d'you think they'll do?"

"Nothing whatsoever," was the calm answer. "I have taken care of that."

Then Eglamir walked to the edge of the road and began to cut dead branches and bushes with his knife, speaking over his shoulder:

"Could you – Belhast, was it? - assist me in this? I deem we need a good fire now, or you will freeze to death."

Belhast, astonished by the other man's coolness, said:

"But – but how on earth you did it?"

"With the help of a friend. But come now and take a hand unless you like cold."

Still unsure about what to do, Belhast took a step towards Eglamir. But just then the cut in the cliff began to echo with a rumbling sound. Belhast started and cried wildly:

"We are caught!"

He scrambled towards the horses as fast as his injuries allowed, convulsively grasping the cloak. Quick thoughts flew in his mind:

"If only I have time to haul Finrosc on horse and mount Dummy, we'll stand a chance still!"

He managed to grasp Dummy's reins, but it was already too late. The echo became louder, then changed to a more distinct sound as the riders cleared the rift. For a fleeting moment Belhast considered fleeing alone, but a glance towards Finrosc made him abandon the idea. It was too much to think of leaving his foster-brother alone to the mercy of a lynching mob. Therefore, he turned to face the ford, letting his arms fall on his sides. The game was up and all that remained was to pay the stakes. He only threw a bitter glance towards Gutrune's prone form and thought with a savage fury:

"I hope they'll string her up, too."

But he became very surprised when he looked towards the ford. He saw only three riders, and none of them looked like a villager. In fact, the foremost of them was the grey old man, Mithrandir. Two other men accompanied him, a tallish dunadan and a man that looked somewhat like a younger version of Barnabas Butterbur, only much thinner and stronger. A crossbow hung from his saddle, whereas the dunadan carried only a sword, the handle of which peeked under his cloak. The strangers wore similar uniforms to that of Eglamir, only without any rank insignia and half covered by dark cloaks.

With this turn of events, Belhast's hopes of surviving suddenly revived. One would have been a fool to try to negotiate with an angry posse, but it was very different with just two soldiers. He had no idea what was going on, but he surely was going to try to profit from it. He called out to the riders:

"Good day, dear masters! You see, I can explain–"

"I am sure you can, my friend, but that is not really necessary," interrupted Mithrandir, who seemed to be smiling behind his beard. He rode over the river, the two other men remaining on the far bank.

Mithrandir headed for the stolen mare and matter-of-factly took it by the reins.

"If you allow, I will take this and return it."

Belhast, still confused, replied:

"Hey, how do we know you won't just steal it and let us to take the blame?"

The strange dunadan stiffened visibly and his forehead wrinled in annoyance. He called out:

"Are you calling us thieves, you cur?"

Mithrandir made a calming motion with his hand.

"Peace, now, he actually asked a good question."

He turned towards Belhast.

"The fact is, you do not know. But I know that if that horse is found in your possession, you might not see the next sunrise. Do not fear, I have arranged this so that no harm will come to you. Ask Eglamir, if this is not so."

Belhast looked at Eglamir with suspicion.

"So this is the friend you spoke of?"

"Yes. Do what he says."

"Well, it seems we haven't got a choice, really."

He shrugged and said to Mithrandir:

"Very well, do what you want. I can only hope you are a man of your word."

Mithrandir smiled.

"Oh, I am. Besides, I do not want that my messengers run into unnecessary trouble. You remember the message, I hope?"

Almost won over by this logic, Belhast replied reluctantly:

"Yes, I do. So, go ahead and take the beast."

Mithrandir chuckled a little.

"Very good. Let us think my saving you from this little trouble as the payment of bearing the message."

He turned his steed with a dexterity remarkable for his apparent age and led the mare over the ford. Belhast moved to the side of Finrosc, who mumbled under his breath:

"You think it is wise to comply?"

Belhast's reply came as a faint whisper:

"I do. This whole business is really weird anyway. We are in no position to fight or run. Or do you have better ideas?"

"Not really."

"So be it then."

Belhast straightened and looked at the men, but they seemed to have forgotten him. The dunadan was now looking at Eglamir and called to him:

"I suppose you remember our discussion."

Eglamir, who had dropped the firewood to the ground and was standing in a calm poise, replied:

"I am neither deaf nor forgetful, dear sir."

"Very good. Take that entourage of yours with you when you go."

Eglamir pointed towards the wet, bruised brothers and Gutrune.

"I will, as soon as we have removed our little inconvenience."

"Indeed. It is not wise to travel in such a condition."

The dunadan wheeled his mount around, adding:

"Goodbye then. May your journey be swift and safe."

"I wish the same to you. Goodbye."

The fair words of both parties were somewhat marred by the coldly polite tone in which they were delivered. The discussion ended, however, and the strangers spurred their horses to follow Mithrandir, who had already reached the opening of the cut. They entered the cut and were swiftly out of sight, only the echo of the hooves remaining in the air. Soon it, too, vanished and the four travellers were left alone on the empty, snow-covered road.

* * *

Belhast now looked for Eglamir, intending to help him. He was now more than half convinced that there would be no more trouble and that warmth was now indeed the most important thing. But Eglamir had already cut an armload of branches and let them fall before Belhast's feet.

"Here. Kindle the fire and help those two beside it, if you can. I will fetch more wood and see that there are no more unpleasant visitors."

Belhast was too cold to be annoyed by the commanding tone of the other and obeyed. He fetched his flint and steel from his pack and then made as big a fire as the amount of the wood allowed. He flashed a tired smile when the wood caught the fire and began to crackle. After rubbing his stiff hands warmer he helped Finrosc to his feet and assisted him to hobble beside the fire. By now Gutrune had rallied somewhat and when Belhast was about to sit down she called weakly to him:

"Hey, I need some help too."

Finrosc only turned his back, but Belhast sneered at her.

"You didn't need help in thieving!"

Gutrune was now shivering badly and said:

"I'm sorry. I really am. I never should have done that, and you got your own back. Please, you can't leave me to freeze!"

Belhast took a look at her, sneezed angrily, then rose mumbling:

"Oh, to Mordor with it!"

He went to Gutrune and drew her roughly on her feet, despite his aching bruises. Gutrune was so badly beaten that she could only totter towards the fire, and Belhast had to support her by the shoulder. He did that none too gently, and as soon as he could he removed his hand, leaving Gutrune to slump into ground. She sat heavily and bent her head to her knees, gasping:

"Thank you."

Belhast only grimaced at her. He remained standing, head bent and brows furrowed. Then he raised his eyes to Gutrune and spat out:

"And now you tell us who you really are and why you tricked us."

* * *

R&R, please. I know this chapter is very short, but I wanted to kick this story going again as soon as possible. I apologize to my readers that there has been so long a pause between updates. I have never had any intention to abandon this story, but various things (two computer breakages, my studies etc.) have forced me to postpone continuing the story. From now on I hopefully will again be able to update more frequently. Moreover, I intend to do some rewrites in the future. Nothing major, though, but mainly making the story stylistically more coherent. The plot won't be changed in any way.


	24. Chapter 24: The SemiNaked Truth

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

* * *

Chapter 24: The Semi-Naked Truth

Gutrune turned her head slightly, revealing half of her hurt face.

"You know it well enough. And as you can see, I am too exhausted for this."

Belhast stared at with hard eyes.

"Oh, no, you're not going to brush this off so easily!"

Some half-formed ideas now took a solid shape in Belhast's mind. He went on:

"First off, why did you leave Tharbad alone and evidently in a hurry? Well, I think I know it now: You did a stupid trick like this and somebody didn't like it. How does that sound?"

Gutrune looked at him with badly concealed horror, then looked down again. She spoke with a breathless, thin voice:

"No, I don't know what you are babbling about."

"Why so scared, then? Let me go on and correct me if I'm wrong. You got wind of a load of money and like a magpie that you seemingly are, you tried to filch it, didn't you? Too bad the money belonged to some big boy or other. Right?"

Gutrune was now shaking from more than mere cold. Her face twitched a little. Belhast knew a brief flash of pity, but brushed it aside. He looked at Finrosc who had listened with interest and asked:

"Well, what do you think?"

"The same as you."

Belhast nodded and said severely:

"Gutrune, look at me!"

She did as told, but reluctantly. Belhast made a fist, then extended the index and middle finger and quickly drew them across his eyebrows, as if wiping sweat away. All the while he stared at Gutrune, who after the gesture trembled even more, stammering:

"You – you are merchants of the five fingers, then?"

"Yes."

* * *

They fell silent as Eglamir approached them, carrying a fresh armload of wood. He dumped them beside the fire, briefly rubbed his hands over the flames and asked:

"Do you have any spare clothes?"

"Our old clothes are in our packs," Finrosc replied.

"Very good, I will get them. And you?" Eglamir asked of Gutrune.

She shook her head.

"A spare skirt, but it must be wet like everything else."

"Hm."

Eglamir took off his cloak and tossed it to her.

"Well, this should serve for a while then. You all, strip and roll in the snow, then rub yourself with it all over. Meanwhile I get your clothes."

Finrosc looked at him like he was a madman.

"What, in this cold? Are you trying to kill us?"

Eglamir spoke gravely:

"On the contrary. Do you think that after twenty years in the wilderness I do not know what it means to get soaked in winter? You must get your blood warm again and this is the fastest way. Try it, you will see that you will feel warmer after it. Then jump and shake a bit beside the fire to dry yourselves."

The brothers looked at each other with astonishment, but started to strip anyway. Eglamir's manner was so commanding and earnest that they could not doubt his words. The dunadan was now in the charge anyway, being the only one unhurt and ,moreover, the most heavily armed person present. Besides, there was certain sense in his advice. Their clothes were already stiffening from frost and became more uncomfortable by the moment.

But when they had taken their jackets off, Belhast saw Gutrune looking at them uneasily. He frowned.

"What?"

"Uh, could you please turn?"

"Oh, right, so that you can run away."

"Do you really think that I am a fool? I don't want to see your, um, equipment and don't want you to ogle at me. I'm just trying not freeze."

"You aren't much to look at at the moment, so why bother?" remarked Finrosc with a venomous look.

Belhast humphed tersely.

"Drop it, Roscy. That's useless."

He turned and Finrosc followed suit, still sitting and grumbling about his knee. Taking the clothes off was quite difficult, but they managed it and after a little hesitation plunged into the snow. It was quite a shock at first and Belhast felt like his heart would stop. The snow stung like thousands of little needles, but then the feeling eased and he could feel some warmth creeping on his cold skin.

He stood up and rubbed a few generous handfuls of snow all over his body, and Finrosc did the same a moment after. They heard a faint sound behind them, telling that Gutrune was now likewise employed. Soon they realized that Eglamir had been right. Blood seemed to rush on their skin again, making them red as boiled crabs. But they felt surprisingly warm now, and after wiping the snow away and shaking his limbs Belhast felt absolutely wonderful when compared to just a moment ago.

At this point Eglamir returned and handed the brothers two bundles of clothes. He also carried three poles, which he tied with string into a makeshift drying rack. Then he stuck the device to the ground and put some of the wet clothes on it. He asked:

"Better now?"

The brothers and Gutrune all replied in the positive after which they started to dress themselves.

Belhast already had his shirt on and was holding his trousers when he remembered that his belt knife still was in the river. He said to Finrosc:

"A moment."

He quickly walked to the river bank and swept his gaze over the location of the earlier battle. It took a little while, but he found the knife. It had luckily flown near to the bank, and the water didn't even reach Belhast's ankles when he waded in to retrieve the tool. The river was freezingly cold, though, and Belhast was happy when he was able to leave it.

He returned to the fire, the knife in his hand. He happened to look at Gutrune, who had wrapped herself in Eglamir's cloak. She seemed like she was about to faint when she saw the knife and almost shrieked:

"Don't kill me!"

Belhast only grimaced at her. He walked to the steaming clothes, strapped the sheath on his dry spare belt and slid the knife into it. Then he asked:

"Where's that dunadan?"

"He went again to fetch wood," replied Finrosc.

"Good. What do you think if we continue our little conversation with this lady here?"

"Sounds fine."

Belhast took his trousers and drew them on without speaking. When he next grabbed his woollen tunic, Gutrune spoke hesitantly:

"Who are you two? Aren't you sent by them, after all?"

Finrosc snapped:

"We are the ones to ask questions here. And nobody sent us. Whom you are talking about, anyway? The Guild of Tharbad, or what?"

Gutrune bit her lips, but Belhast snapped at her:

"Answer!"

Gutrune's expression changed from fear to one of weary resigantion. She took a breath and started to speak nervously:

"Yes, that of Tharbad. You see, when I came to Cardolan I wandered for a while trying to make a living with my healer's skills. But it was hard work, and I only managed to keep myself in scant bread and often had not even a roof over my head. I went to Tharbad, therefore, thinking that I could manage better there."

"But you didn't."

"No. Too much competition, and the people there seemed to trust only the dunadan doctors." She smiled sourly.

"As if one healed with his blood and not with his skills. But well, there I was, almost without a penny to my name and due to be kicked out from the room I had rented. Then, one evening I got a patient with a minor ailment that I cured very easily. He paid me handsomely and promised to tell his friends about me."

Belhast nodded.

"Ah, the old story. He was a crook, wasn't he?"

"A leader of a gang. All kinds of shady types began to come to me, with knife wounds or ugly bruises. They made very clear that I would be very sorry if I spoke to anyone about them. Then I made a mistake."

"Which was?"

"I sold one of them a vial of a sleep draught I had concocted, because he complained he was kept awake by the pain of a broken wrist. Well, he tried it and then got an idea which he revealed to the gang boss."

She paused to scoop a little snow in her hand. Pressing it against her injured cheek she went on:

"The boss made me an offer. I was to lure sailors and such like with me from inns and the harbour."

Finrosc's mouth curled with contempt.

"Oh, you were a wh– ?"

Gutrune quailed like she was pricked with a knife. Blood suddenly rushed to her face and she yelled, cutting off Finrosc's speech:

"No, I was not! I never was a whore, never will be and no one may call me one!"

Belhast was a little surprised by the vehemence of Gutrune's outburst. He, however, also sensed a chance to wring the complete truth out of her. To provoke her further he said:

"Well, that certainly sounds pretty murky to me."

Gutrune, now really angry, replied:

"I never lied with any of them! I always drugged them before it could happen, or led them to an ambush to be mugged."

She checked herself and for a moment pressed her mouth tightly shut and looked away. Then she said:

"I don't really see why I should tell you more. What's the use?"

Belhast had just buckled his belt on. He laid his hand on the knife hilt and stepped closer to her with a menacing look that, however, suited him quite badly.

"As for why, you are now helpless and thus it's pretty wise to tell us whatever we want to know. As for the use, don't you think there's a pretty big difference between you acting alone and you being a part of a gang targeting us? I don't want to be afraid there's more of your ilk lurking somewhere. So, finish what you started and talk!"

When Belhast saw how Gutrune leaned away from him with fear in her eyes, he loathed the whole business even more. He had been a thief, a cheat and a cardsharp but never a tough. Violence or the threat of it always upset him. Yes, he had been in similar situations before, but almost always as the bullied side. Looking at Gutrune's pale, trembling features he suddenly realized how he must himself have looked on those occasions. That made him feel miserable, but for some reason also angrier. Therefore, he grasped the knife hilt tighter and waited. He only hoped that he wouldn't be forced to go beyond threats. He didn't know if he or Finrosc could do it. But Gutrune quickly moistened her dry lips with her tongue and spoke:

"Well, that business went on for some time and we did pretty well. But I got weary of it, and then my cousin wrote to me, as you already know."

"Where's the letter?"

Gutrune dug into the pile of her possessions that had been emptied from her sack and picked up a roll of very cheap parchment, made from tree bark. Belhast took it and read the letter. It told him very little, however, since it was in the language of the Northmen written in tall, ugly letters. Still, a few words vaguely resembled westron and Belhast could decipher some of the meaning. The name "Long Lake" appeared twice, and there was something about work, too. The letter was signed with the name Irminhilt.

Satisfied, he handed the letter back and said:

"Good. And what happened then?"

"We got hold of a fat mark. He was so keen that I barely could persuade him not to rip my clothes off until he had drunk a 'love potion' that would keep him going for the whole night."

"And in reality, it was the sleep draught?"

"Exactly. He swallowed it and slept almost instantly. Before I gave the sign for the others to enter, I took a expensive-looking silver ring from his finger. It had tiny rubies on it, too, so I figured I could get a good price from a fence. That would have been a nice addition to my travelling funds, you see."

She wrapped the cloak tighter around her.

"The lookout who had watched me and the dupe arrive had noticed the ring, though. When they came to loot the man, they of course missed it. And I, of course, was accused of taking it."

Belhast frowned.

"Why didn't they kill you, then? You know as well as I that that kind of thing isn't exactly smiled upon."

Gutrune flashed a faint smile.

"They didn't find the bauble on me. As soon as the lookout started to wonder where it was, I slipped it inside the waistband of my skirt. It dropped noiselessly on the carpet from inside my skirt, and they didn't notice it. I stepped away and after a moment pointed to the ring, pretending to having found it. I told them it must have slipped from the mark's fingers. They suspected still, though."

She swallowed heavily and continued with a voice that she forced to sound natural:

"They dragged me to the backroom of a tavern that served as the gang's hideout and formed a sorts of a tribunal. Then they – they casually talked right in front of me about if I should be killed. Half of them said yes but the others were against. They voted, and as the votes went even they decided on a compromise. I was given three days to leave Tharbad. If they were to find me there after that, I would die."

She swallowed again, stroking her neck.

"They allowed me to keep what money I had and my other belongings. After I was let out of the room, I didn't waste a minute, but ran to my lodgings and collected my things. I was out of the city by the next noon and in the evening I stumbled on you. The rest you know."

Belhast nodded.

"At least we can guess well enough. You noticed the weight of the cloak in that tavern, right?"

"Yes, and your reaction convinced me there was something inside it."

"And you drugged us both in Bree with the same draught that you used on those marks of yours?"

Gutrune's nose wrinkled in a disappointed way.

"Right. But you woke up too early. The potion must have got old or I misjudged the amount needed. Who knows?"

Belhast turned to Finrosc.

"Well, I think we know now all we want."

Finrosc stroked his chin and replied:

"Not quite. Gutrune, why did you leave your homeland in the first place?"

By now Gutrune had had time to settle her nerves and replied, with a hard look:

"That is not your business. You can beat that out of me, but otherwise I won't tell."

Finrosc scoffed:

"Oh, now we are back to playing a tough girl, aren't we? But well, no matter."

* * *

Eglamir returned now, again forcing the conversation to a halt. He was leading Dummy, whom he had loaded with wood. He instantly proceeded to build the fire larger and building a second drying rack. The others looked at him with guarded looks, but the dunadan seemed to be oblivious of anything special having happened. While he worked, he only remarked:

"I loaned your horse a little. I hope that suits you."

"Oh, by all means. But what do you propose we do now?" asked Belhast, not realizing he was now asking advice from a man whom he had strongly suspected only a few hours ago. If he would have thought about it for a moment, he would perhaps have noticed that the fight and Gutrune's tale had temporarily swept his usual caution aside.

"Simple. We dry your clothes as soon as possible, then load our injured friend here and the woman on the horses and journey to the Forsaken Inn to the east of here." A glimmer of amusement briefly shone in his eyes.

"Unless, of course, you want to return to Bree to rest there?"

Finrosc laughed a little.

"Not likely! But why press onwards now? We could camp here and continue tomorrow. My knee would be a lot better by then."

Eglamir looked at him.

"There are wolves about. The forest around the ford is full of their footprints. And there could be something worse, too, but I am not sure yet. Our safest bet is to get to the Forsaken Inn by nightfall, if possible."

He tossed a few branches more to the fire, then motioned to Belhast.

"You can walk, so could you come and help me to collect our things? I think we had better be ready to travel if anything happens."

Belhast obeyed and followed Eglamir, who strode towards his horse and the packs that lied discarded on the ground. When he went, he wondered: What could be worse than wolves?

* * *

R&R, please. The meanings of a few slang words in this chapter are:

Merchants of the five fingers = thieves.

A fat mark = a victim with lots of money.

A mark = a dupe; a victim.

A fence = a buyer and seller of stolen goods.

Whereas I know that secret handshakes and such signals are a bit of a cliché, they are actually in use in some circles even today and were quite commonplace earlier in history in e.g. secret societies. Therefore I thought such a sign would not be out of place in this chapter.


	25. Chapter 25: Howls in the Dark

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

* * *

Chapter 25: Howls in the Dark

Eglamir and Belhast brought the packs and Eglamir's horse to the fire and sat down with the others. The flames crackled merrily and the drying clothes had started to steam, spreading the unpleasant odour of wet wool and cotton into the air. The day was still as cold as before, but beside the fire it was tolerably warm and nice, especially after Belhast had spread the tent canvas on the ground to sit on.

They ate in silence, but then Belhast asked:

"Eglamir, you spoke of something worse than wolves? Did you mean brigands?"

"I did, but there is also a slight possibility that some raiding party from the North has come to here."

Eglamir tossed a branch into the fire and continued:

"It would be the first time they came this far south, but that cannot be ruled out."

Finrosc said:

"What is this talk of the North, anyway? We have heard rumours, but nothing clearer."

Eglamir replied:

"There is a new realm up North, called Angmar, the Iron-Home. They say it is ruled by an evil King who is also a powerful sorcerer and commands evil Men and even Orcs. No one knows where he came from or who he is. But the fact remains that during the last fourteen or fifteen years there have been raids in northern Arthedain and Rhudaur."

He frowned.

"Year by year the attackers' numbers grow more and our power remains the same. Dark years may be ahead."

"Well, be that as it may, but why do you think there's robbers or what not around?" Finrosc said.

Eglamir turned and pointed behind himself.

"Look at the horizon and you will see smoke rising from the hilltop yonder. It cannot be a farm, since there is only forest in that direction."

Belhast looked at the pointed direction but could not at first see anything but wooded hills rolling beyond the horizon. At length, however, his eyes caught a very faint hint of rising smoke some miles away. It was only a very thin shadow against the sky, and Belhast would surely not have noticed it without knowing it was there. A feeling of uneasiness started to poke at the back of his mind, but he asked:

"Could it not be a mere traveller?"

"When snow covers the woods and in a place where there are no roads? I do not think so. Only a blind man, or a fool, would lose his way so badly."

Eglamir rose to examine the clothes, speaking while he was thus engaged:

"You see now why we must hurry away. In fact, I almost hope they are Orcs."

Finrosc's eyes widened in surprise.

"Why on earth would you do that?"

The answer was calm:

"Because then we have little to fear until the sundown. In a day like this the Orcs cannot see almost anything and will lie resting in such shade as they can find."

He turned Gutrune's jacket around on the rack and shook her boots. Meanwhile, Belhast and Finrosc exchanged a worried look behind his back.

* * *

It took until three hours after the midday for the clothes to dry so much that they could be worn. When Eglamir noticed that, he instantly put the fire out, taking care that the ashes did not smoke. He was obviously dissatisfied that his plans of reaching The Forsaken Inn by night had now been rendered void, but there was nothing he could do to mend it. Accordingly, he hurried the others to make ready quickly, to save even some of the lost time.

Belhast and Finrosc did not bother with changing since their old clothes were tolerably warm. Gutrune, however, gladly drew her garments on while the men again looked away. She was still too beaten to walk much, but with Eglamir's help she managed to climb on the black warhorse. Finrosc, who already had been helped on Dummy, saw this and protested:

"Hey, why are we taking her with us, anyway? Let her rot here, I say!"

Eglamir gave him a severe look.

"Would you be a murderer? If we abandon her here, the wolves could well attack her as soon as we were out of scent. She may be a thief, but she is still a woman in trouble and I will not suffer any harm to come to her until she is somewhere safe."

While not particularly infused with any sense of chivalry, Belhast still agreed with the dunadan. He, too, reluctantly spoke:

"We can't leave her, that's a sure thing. I don't know about you but I don't want to know that I left her to serve as a lunch to the wolves. We'll get rid of her in the Forsaken Inn at latest, anyway. So stop complaining, especially since you have a free ride."

Finrosc bit his lips, obviously striving to control his anger. Belhast frowned a little when he saw that.

"Roscy seems to take this thing way too far. Why is he still so worked up, anyway? Gutrune got her desserts and in any case is not a threat anymore," he thought. Then he shrugged and checked the straps of his pack, taking it on his back.

By now Finrosc was calmer and said:

"Very well, then. I'm not a killer, either. But you, Eglamir, should watch your horse in case she decides to ride away on it."

Eglamir smiled faintly.

"I would wonder very much if she succeeded in that. Alagos obeys only me, so she would not get ten paces before she found herself thrown on the ground."

Gutrune looked at Finrosc with weary annoyance.

"Precisely. So could you please stop that? I've made enough stupid tricks for the day."

Finrosc returned a venomous look but fell silent. He remained so while Belhast checked for the last time that their gear was securely strapped on Dummy's back. Then, without more ado, they started their journey.

* * *

They went as fast as they could and covered many miles in a few hours. Whatever Belhast thought about Eglamir's trustworthiness, he still had to admit that the man obviously was a skilled woodsman. Even though the dunadan always seemed to be quite at ease, his eyes wandered to and fro, not missing a detail. Twice he stopped for a brief moment to listen, then hurried them on even faster than before. Belhast was not sure, but it was as if he, too, could hear some faint rustle from the woods that surrounded the road from either side.

An hour after their departure the sun started to set and a blue twilight crept under the trees. As the sun sunk deeper, the coming darkness cast its veil over the road, much too soon for the quartet's taste. Gradually the twilight deepened into a near blackness, since the moon had not yet risen and would not do so until hours later. Bright stars started to kindle in the cloudless sky, but their light was not much to speak of. The wind quieted and there was an oppressing stillness everywhere in the woods. Now and again, however, some tree shed its load of snow to the ground. Every time that happened, Belhast started a little and Finrosc and Gutrune straightened in their saddles, casting fearful glances around them. The threat of wolves had strained their nerves more than they cared to show. Only Eglamir maintained his composure.

They stopped for a brief pause two hours after the sunset, but then pressed on again. Despite of the short rest Belhast was almost spent only two hours afterwards. He had from the start had problems keeping up with the dunadan's long stride, and the various aches all over his body did not particularly help in that. He was compelled to grasp Finrosc's stirrup just to keep himself going. Finally he had to call out:

"Eglamir, stop! I can't take more unless we rest a bit."

The dunadan looked at him with something like disapproval, but nodded.

"Very well. A half an hour must suffice, however. There is still three or four hours' journey left and I do not like to delay. So eat and rest as well as you may."

The others did not need a second command, and ate with gusto. Eglamir, however, finished his meal speedily and remained in an alert position. Suddenly he raised his hand in a warning gesture.

"Hush! Listen!"

They did so, but could not hear anything special at first. Then, however, a soft sound, like small feet treading the snow came to their ears. It was soon accompanied by other similar sounds and something like low growls. They came from the thickets that were lying in the deepest shadows under the trees. Belhast licked his lips nervously and looked at his companions. Gutrune was deathly pale and her fingers trembled on her lap, but Finrosc was still like he had been sculpted from stone. His mouth hung half open and his eyes stared to the woods before him.

Eglamir, however, was not so paralysed from fear. He jumped up and shouted with a loud voice. The rustle quieted for a moment, then there was a rushing sound and the others could see grey forms sliding between trees only some dozens of yards from them. They quickly disappeared from sight.

At the sight of them Dummy, who had showed signs of uneasiness for the whole of the past hour, screamed from fright and reared on its hind legs. It would have bolted, but Belhast rushed up just in time, despite the protest of his aching limbs. With difficulty he managed to force Dummy to stay in its place and to calm down. The gelding, however, continued to tremble all over. Belhast patted it, murmuring soothing words in its ear. Over Dummy's neck he glanced at Alagos. The stallion was ostensibly calm, but it had drawn its ears close to its head and its every muscle was strained. Not a sound of distress escaped its mouth.

Belhast didn't have the time to admire the excellent training of the warhorse, since Eglamir now spoke in a grave tone:

"We must leave at once. Belhast, help those two on the saddle!"

He then bared his knife and started to cut a juniper bush that grew at the roadside. Meanwhile, Belhast helped Finrosc on his feet and then on the horseback. He did likewise to Gutrune, who flashed a surprisingly grateful look at him.

Eglamir rose from his squatting position and quickly stepped to the horses. He now held four hastily made torches, two of which he handed to Finrosc and Gutrune.

"Keep hold of them if your lives are dear to you! Light them the instant I say so."

Finrosc took the torch and tucked the torch under his belt. Gutrune grasped hers tightly in her gloved hand. When that was done, Eglamir drew his two spears from their holster and handed one of them to Belhast, saying:

"Here, use it if necessary. When you thrust, aim for the eyes or the throat."

Belhast only nodded and weighted the weapon in his hand. It was well balanced, as far as he could tell, and designed both for thrusting and throwing. The feel of it made Belhast's mind somewhat steadier, but he still couldn't help cold sweat forming on his forehead.

They took off, going at an even faster rate than before. At first there was no sign of the wolves, but after an half of an hour the small rustle in the forest started again. They saw shadows gliding under the trees, too dark and large to be caused by the flickering starlight. At intervals nerve-racking little barks and suppressed growls came to their ears.

They continued for almost two hours like this, and Belhast's fear rose with every moment. The dark grey shadows came nearer and nearer, seemingly an inch at a time and occasionally Belhast could see the glint of eyes peering at them from among the underbrush. He felt that he must do something soon or snap.

Suddenly a silvery light grew on the road and cast long shadows among the trees. The moon was rising above the treetops. A moment of silence ensued, but then a fearful howl rang through the air. A chorus of others followed, a long and horrid series of wails that made the brothers and Gutrune to tremble.

Belhast turned his head to his left and saw now the wolves clearly. There were perhaps a dozen of them on that side of the road alone, big and evil-looking beasts that stood only some thirty yards from the road.

Suddenly a bow rang and a loud whelp was heard from the right side of the road. The wolves let out a last, furious howl and then fell silent. Belhast whipped around and saw Eglamir standing with a bow in his hands. Behind him, among the bushes, a furry bundle sprawled on the ground. In the moonlight Belhast could see an arrow protruding from it and the dark stain of blood on the snow.

Eglamir took another arrow from the quiver and put it under his belt, shouting:

"Onwards, quickly, while they will feast on the carcass!"

He showed example by taking Alagos's reins and speeding along the road in a sort of half-run. As he had predicted, the wolves attacked their wounded pack member, a few even leaping over the road without even glancing at the travellers. A babel of barks and snarls sounded from the tumult of the hungry animals.

But now a difficulty arose. Dummy, who was badly shocked by the howls, refused to budge. Finrosc dug his heels into its side, cursing the animal aloud, but it still remained standing where it was, shivering and neighing.

Angry and desperate, Belhast raised his spear and pricked Dummy's hindquarters with it, yelling:

"Move, you worthless piece of shit!"

That did the trick, and Dummy broke into a run. Belhast had just time to take hold of the stirrup before it would have rushed out of reach. Half running, half being dragged, he clung to the stirrup until they had reached the others. Eglamir, who had been compelled to wait for them, snapped:

"What were you waiting for? Once more and I must abandon you! And now hurry!"

The brothers were not in a position to argue, but obeyed. The horses were urged to such a speed that the two unmounted men could just keep up with them. Belhast didn't now even remember his bruises. A hot rush of blood coursed in his veins, giving him the last drop of strength he needed at the moment.

They went like this for half an hour, but then they were compelled to slow down. Belhast was again in the danger of collapsing if he ran much longer. He could, however, still force himself to walk and did so, gritting his teeth. Maybe he could die far from home, but he would not end up as the dinner of wild beasts, or so he promised to himself.

A silence spread again around them, and no wolves were to be seen. For a while they thought they had managed to escape, but then chilling yowls and barks sounded from the woods behind them. Looking back, Belhast could see the running forms of the wolves approaching them. He exclaimed:

"There they are again!"

Eglamir looked over his shoulder for an instant and then motioned quickly to Finrosc and Gutrune.

"Light the torches!"

Finrosc struck light with a feverish haste and luckily managed to get the torch burning at the first try. He leaned towards Gutrune who took light to her torch without wasting a moment. The red flames illuminated their faces, which were contorted in badly concealed fear.

Even though they had moved all the time, the wolves were faster still. They soon caught up with the group, but instead of attacking straight away they divided, some of them running ahead of the travellers, some staying on the sides of the road. One bold wolf almost brushed Belhast when it sped past him. Belhast instinctively thrust his spear towards the wolf. It caught the wolf on its ribs but glanced away from the bone without making more than a shallow gash on the thick hide. The animal swerved and almost fell, but remained on its feet and ran off with a pained yelp. The rest still maintained their distance, but how long, no one could tell.

"What are they doing, Eglamir? Why don't they attack?" asked Gutrune hoarsely.

"They are surrounding us before they will fall on us from all sides," was the reply, delivered in an unnaturally cool manner. The dunadan seemed to ponder for a moment and spoke again:

"We have one chance still. Make noise, all of you! Shout or sing, no matter, but be loud and keep doing it!"

Then he himself yelled aloud and repeated it at small intervals. Gutrune broke into a noisy soliloquy in her own tongue that sounded like a prayer to whatever gods she happened to serve. Seeing, or rather hearing this Finrosc cleared his throat and launched into a song in a voice so raw from fright that it would have caused him to be thrown out of almost any tavern. The song was a ballad about a highway robber called the Wolf, an apt choice perhaps but not exactly mood-lifting at the moment. Belhast joined the song, bellowing like he was being beaten.

The ruse worked: The wolves instantly retreated farther to the woods, scared by the sudden noise. But they did not flee and continued to run abreast and ahead of the travellers. One of the wolves tried to come nearer, but Eglamir shot it, too. This time, however, the pack didn't bother with the carcass. Only a few of the hungriest wolves stopped to sup on their late friend. But the rest of the pack was now keen on the hunt and went on.

The wolves started again to tighten their circle, only retreating for a moment when the travellers lifted their voices louder than usual. It was obvious that soon they would not anymore care about the torches or the din of voices but would move in for the kill.

Sweat ran now freely under Belhast's clothes and his feet were sore and chafed. Still, he pressed on with the others, even though his hopes of surviving had almost waned. He shouted over Finrosc and Gutrune's voices to Eglamir:

"How long is it to the Forsaken Inn?"

"A five miles or so. We may yet make it."

"May?"

A cold look was the only answer and Belhast resumed, crestfallen, his singing and shouting. His lips moved almost automatically now, and his throat felt like it was scraped with sandpaper. He felt like he was choking. Still, he raised his voice again in a desperate effort.

* * *

Then, suddenly, the wolves ahead raised a loud howl. Belhast shivered.

"Oh, no, now they'll attack!" he thought, pressing the spear in his hand so strongly that his knuckles whitened.

But the wolves did nothing of the sort. Instead, they wheeled around and ran away, sending clouds of snow flying as they went. Belhast just stared, not believing his eyes. The wolves were fleeing, but from what?

The answer came a moment later, when furious barks and shouts of men rang from ahead and a pack of muscular hounds ran from the woods ahead them. Right after them rode and ran a group of men in dark green cloaks and jackets, holding hunting spears and bows. They shouted encouragements to the dogs as they came, and quite a few of them held burning torches in their hands.

A great sense of relief came over Belhast, and with it weakness. He let the butt of the spear fall to the ground and leaned heavily on Finrosc's stirrup. He heard faintly as from afar Gutrune's surprised voice:

"Eglamir, who are they?"

"King's forresters, and I daresay they arrived not a moment too soon."

Belhast raised his head and saw that a tall man in his middle years was riding towards the group. When he got near he jumped from the saddle and ran next to Belhast, worry in his eyes. Laying his hand on Belhast's shoulder the man asked:

"Are any of you hurt?"

Belhast only shook his head. He had too much trouble in fighting back a sob to do anything else.

* * *

R&R, please.

Alagos = Windstorm.


	26. Chapter 26: Late Regrets

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

* * *

Chapter 26: Late Regrets

It took some time for Belhast to compose his nerves again. He still trembled a little when a horse was led to him and he was asked to mount it. He managed it, however, with some little difficulty. Eglamir, however, leaped on the back of the horse that was given to him as nimbly and as he had been after a good night's rest. The man must have limbs, and nerves, of iron, Belhast thought wearily.

When Belhast looked around, he saw that most of the forresters had continued the chase, their torches now glimmering from between the trees. Soon the lights and the barking of the dogs both disappeared, and only the soft moonlight again lit the place. The winter night was very still and the air was crisp. Belhast felt his rent nerves beginning to settle, and took a deep breath.

The forresters had left two mounted men and two horses to accompany the travellers, the middle-aged man being among them. He rode to Belhast's side.

"You were lucky, my friends. That pack was larger than I have seen for many years in this land."

Finrosc replied:

"It surely was a lot bigger than I cared to see. Thank you for saving us! By the way, may I ask for your names?"

"But of course! I am Meglis, and my friend there is named Will Rowanberry."

When mentioned, the man in question touched the peak of his cap and gave the quartet a courteous greeting in a purest Breeland dialect. His companion, however, went on:

"He is from Archet, whereas I hail from near the Lake Nenuial. But what are your names, and where are your homes, then?"

The travellers were obligated to introduce themselves, the two brothers of course still using their false names. No one of them did speak of their business, however, but Finrosc only made a vague remark about them being wandering commoners in search of work. When that was done, Meglis said:

"Well, after such a fright I daresay a hot meal and a soft bed will not do you any harm. So, if you are ready, we will ride to the Forsaken Inn. It is barely an hour's ride away."

All cheerfully assented and they took off. While they rode, Gutrune spoke with Will:

"Master Rowanberry, how often something like this happens in these parts? I'd hate to fear a new attack when we continue our journey."

Will smiled.

"Rest assured, ma'am, this sort of thing is quite rare. Them wolves have sneaked from Rhudaur, you see."

"I see. It was good luck you happened to catch them the moment you did."

"Oh, that one has nothin' to do with luck. We had found some traces five days ago and knew that a pack was on the move. The chief sent some men ahead to see where they were. We would have waited for 'em to return, you see, but then one of us saw your torches from a hilltop and heard the din the beasts were making. He hurried back to the Inn where the rest of us were and so we rode to the rescue, so to say."

"And thank you for that."

A short laugh escaped Will's lips.

"Well, we didn't exactly want to provide the wolves with a Yule dinner, you see. I'm sure glad we reached you in time."

Eglamir now asked:

"You said that some men were ahead the rest. Well, this morning we saw smoke from a campfire rising from the woods to the north of the nearby ford. I deem it was your one of your outriders?"

"Probably so, sir. Two of them scouted the north side of the road, you see, and two were at the south side." Will chuckled again.

"Too bad that the wolves were in the middle. Cunning buggers, if you ask me."

* * *

They rode on, conversing some more as they went. But after three quarters of an hour they could see red light shining from between the trees. After turning a bend on the road the travellers could finally see the Forsaken Inn.

It was a big, sombre house, three stories high. The two lower stories were made with blocks of reddish granite, cut tolerably smooth but not polished, and the highest story was of sturdy timbers. A chest-high stonewall encircled the inn and the outbuildings, torches burning at the corners of the wall. A wide gateway was left in the wall, through which the travellers rode. Altogether the place looked more like a small fort than an inn. In fact, only a colourful sign above the massive wooden door told of the purpose of the building. The sign and the door were brightly lit with two big lanterns that hung on both sides of the sign.

"What's the need of this wall?" asked Finrosc of Meglis.

"Oh, if you lived here you would know. All the lands east of Bree are contested, as each of the three kingdoms claims they belong to them. Our King, of course, is the only one with a lawful claim, but that does not deter Cardolan and Rhudaur from trying to rob us of the land. There is a tenuous peace now, but in past decades this inn has seen its share of sieges by some raiding party or other. In times of trouble a small troop of soldiers is stationed here, but at the moment the innkeeper is only required to quarter us forresters on his own expense when needed."

"I see. And is there a reason this place is called Forsaken?"

"Yes, this is the last inn before Rhudaur. From here to the border there are only tiny villages and scattered homesteads. So you can well see how the inn got its name."

Their talk ceased now as they dismounted before the stable. A servant came and led the horses in. The travellers, for their part, walked to the inn's door, Finrosc being assisted by Will and Belhast and Gutrune by Eglamir and Meglis. They knocked and paused to wait for someone to open, which gave Belhast a moment to look closer at the house. He noticed that the door was handsomely engraved with motifs of fir branchtips and such flowers that grew in the northern woods. That, however, was the only thing to relieve the otherwise gloomy appearance of the inn.

The door was opened and they walked in. The indoors could have belonged to an another house altogether than the outside, such was the difference between them. Belhast found that he stood in a warm hall that was decorated with fir branches, mistletoe and holly. Across the hall, a double door stood half open, revealing the large common room behind it. Due to the lateness of the hour there were none of the guests present and only one lantern abovce the counter lit the place. Belhast could see, however, that the room was also decorated for Yule and that the massive tables and benches were clean and well ordered.

Now the servant that had opened the door and gone to fetch the landlord returned with the latter. The innkeeper was a gaunt, greying man, the very opposite of Barnabas Butterbur. His manners, however, were friendly enough when the travellers asked for a room.

"Well, take your pick, misters. I have only five guests at the moment so most of the rooms are free. Not much business this time of the year, you know."

They ordered three rooms, one for the brothers, another for Eglamir and the last for Gutrune. Hearing this request the innkeeper raised his eyebrows:

"Why, I thought the good mistress was the wife of one of you! This is a decent house, mind you, and I trust there is a good reason she is with you."

Eglamir spoke suavely:

"We met her in Bree, where she had some trouble from some unsavoury types. We tried to advice them about gentlemanly conduct, but you can see the results on the faces of my friends. We conducted her here and will be leaving by ourselves when we have recovered. I think the woman will stay for some time longer, but you must ask that from her."

The innkeeper looked more closely at the battered forms of the travellers and grinned.

"Oh well, if you speak true I can only hope the other fellows look worse now. I was wondering where you did get those marks. Wolves don't have fists, or didn't the last time I heard."

Finrosc nodded and invented a new lie:

"Yes, and that's why we had to leave there. After the little scuffle Butterbur wasn't exactly welcoming towards us anymore."

The innkeeper replied:

"Well, no one likes that his customers are beaten, however worthy the cause. I'll gladly lodge you for as long as you can pay, but I won't have any trouble in my house."

Gutrune said:

"No need to fear, my good master. What happened in Bree was just an unfortunate accident. I am sure you will have no reason to complain. I, for my part, will pay my own bill and probably keep mostly to my room."

* * *

The innkeeper was satisfied with this and without more ado showed the travellers to their rooms. They were almost as good as in Bree, having slightly worn carpets and durable furniture. When they were left alone, Belhast helped Finrosc down to the other bed in the room and sat down on the other, saying:

"Well, this looks quite good a place to stay. How soon you think you can travel again?"

Finrosc, who was divesting himself if his boots and trousers, shook his head.

"I don't know. My knee hurts very bad still. I think we must spend the Yule here. The rest will in any case do us good."

Belhast nodded and laid down, relaxing. A pained grunt from Finrosc soon made him rise a little, however.

"What is it?"

"Oh, damn, look at this knee!"

Finrosc's knee was indeed badly swollen and coloured with an ugly mix of purple, blue and black. The iron-shod end of Gutrune's staff had done its work only too well.

"Now that looks bad! Wait a minute, I'll try to find some medicine for it," said Belhast.

"You do that. Hey, ask Eglamir if he has something! I hate to rely on him, but at the moment we don't seem to have much choice."

Belhast nodded and went to Eglamir's door which was the next one down the corridor. The dunadan opened almost before Belhast had ceased knocking.

"Yes?"

"Uh, sorry to disturb you, but Roscy's knee looks pretty hideous. I just wanted to ask if you had any skill in healing bruises and such?"

Eglamir replied:

"I know basics. Well, wait for a moment and I will come and see to it."

Belhast did as he was told, and soon Eglamir emerged from the room, carrying a leather pouch. They went to the brothers' room and Eglamir looked at Finrosc's injuries. Finrosc asked:

"So, is it bad?"

"Bad enough that you must rest for four days at least."

The dunadan opened the pouch and took a small flask from it.

"Fortunately I have a suitable ointment with me. Now, stay still when I apply it and bandage the limb."

He set immediately to work, Belhast looking with a little suspicion at him as he spread a grey paste from the flask on Finrosc's knee. The dunadan had just finished this and was taking bandage from his pouch, when someone knocked on the door. Thinking that it was the innkeeper or a servant, Belhast said:

"Enter, please!"

* * *

The door opened, revealing Gutrune who was leaning on the doorpost. Seeing her, Finrosc snapped:

"What are you doing here? Get out and fast!"

Gutrune raised her face, on which two plasters were stuck, and hesitantly replied:

"I– I just wondered if you needed something for your injuries. As an apology, you see."

She pointed to the medicine box that she had tucked in her armpit. Finrosc, however, was still furious:

"Oh, what is it to you, anyway? Now go, I don't want to see your face!"

Gutrune's expression became even sadder than before, but she still opened her mouth to answer. Belhast stopped her short, saying with forced civility:

"Please leave. You see that everything is as well as it can be."

"Very well. Good night, then."

She turned away from the door and disappeared in the corridor. She left the door open, however, and Belhast had to stand up to shut it. When he did it, he heard Gutrune's faltering steps and looked after her. In the dimness of the corridor he could just see her supporting herself on the wall with her hand as she went. It looked very difficult and even painful, and Belhast frowned a little. He sighed, a little exasperated:

"Oh, well then."

He went out of the room, closing the door after him, and walked to Gutrune. He took the box under his right arm and wrapped the left around her back, saying curtly:

"Let me help a bit."

"Thanks," was the weary reply.

In this manner they soon reached Gutrune's room, where Belhast let her to slump on a chair. Then he set the box on a table and turned to face Gutrune.

"Now, what was the point of that little visit?"

"I told you, it was an attempt to apologize."

"And from where came this sudden impulse to be all good and nice?" was the sarcastic reply.

Gutrune looked down and answered, now almost in tears.

"You could have left me to the wolves, but you didn't."

Belhast sighed again and sat on a bed opposite the chair.

"Look here, you can't suppose that we'll forget everything this easily. It was a dirty trick to me and even dirtier to Roscy."

"I know, I was beside myself." She smoothed her collar, continuing:

"With all that money in sight, I could not resist the temptation. One doesn't hide copper pennies in his garments, you know." She paused and looked straight at Belhast, almost in tears.

"Look, can we not forget it? I swear I won't do that again, or anything of the sort."

Belhast replied, now in a little gentler mood:

"I believe you won't, but Roscy doesn't. And even if I tried to believe you, I couldn't trust you. So, I think we'll part ways. And I don't pretend that I regret it."

He rose to his feet and offered his hand to Gutrune.

"Well, farewell then. I wish that you'll get safely to Esgaroth."

She took his hand and shook it. Her voice was quite sad when she said:

"I wish the same to you both. Farewell."

Belhast turned and strode back to his room. When there, he didn't bother to answer Finrosc's question:

"Where in Mordor were you and why?"

Instead, he took his shirt off at Eglamir's request and let him treat his injuries. After that, the dunadan left and the foster-brothers were alone again. They were now too tired to speak, and only ate some of their provisions, after which they took to their beds. Finrosc slept almost instantly, but Belhast remained awake for some time, lying on his back. He watched the darkness and thought about Gutrune. He pitied her for a moment. Then he, however, turned to his side and his sore chest sent a small stab of pain through him. He snorted, forgetting his pity and closed his eyes.

* * *

Belhast awoke just when the sun started to rise. He felt somewhat rested, but also still stiff and sore and above all very hungry. Ignoring his aches he sat up and saw that Finrosc still slept soundly. Not wanting to disturb him, Belhast slipped his clothes on as quietly as he could and opened the door silently. The corridor was empty, but from downstairs rose the wonderful scent of hot sausages and coffee.

Belhast smacked his lips, eagerly looking forward to a big breakfast. But then he suddenly remembered Dummy. Last night he had forgotten the poor animal as soon as it had been led to the stable. Now he felt bad about it, not least because he now remembered the gelding's wound, too.

So, with a look of longing towards the common room, he walked outside and went to the stable. When there, he soon found Dummy. It ate placidly when Belhast came before it, and didn't seem to be in the least pain. This surprised Belhast, and he opened the stall door, stepping behind Dummy. Now he saw why the horse was so content: A plaster of spider webs had been neatly spread over the spear-wound, and some paste or another had been applied to the edges of the injury.

Confused, Belhast squeezed himself past Dummy again and in the process saw that a piece of scarlet ribbon had been tied to the gelding's mane. Belhast now realized that Gutrune must have been the mysterious veterinary, and a twinge of anger went through him. His first impulse was to tear the ribbon away, but he stayed his hand before he touched it. He let his hands fall to his sides and shrugged.

"Well, if she wants to apologize, let her," he thought, patting Dummy and murmuring a few soothing words to it. Then he turned and exited the stable, smiling a little as he went.

* * *

R&R, please.


	27. Chapter 27: A Yule Far From Home

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

* * *

Chapter 27: A Yule Far From Home

After he had eaten the largest breakfast he had seen in years Belhast sighed with contentment and pushed his plate aside. A servant came to clean the table and asked:

"I hope you enjoyed your meal?"

"Yes, it was wonderful," Belhast replied. He paused briefly, frowning a little and continued:

"I just remembered one thing. You see, my friend is unable to walk, so could you please take his breakfast to our room?"

While speaking, he slipped two copper pennies from his pocket and placed them on the table. The servant casually took them and replied:

"With pleasure. Was that the room number eight?"

"Yes, it was. Oh, and one more thing: I think we'll eat all our meals in our quarters until his knee is better. I hope I can trust you to see to it, even though it means a little more work for you?"

Two more pennies exchanged owners. The servant grinned.

"Sure thing, master! Just tell me at mornings what you want to eat and I'll handle it."

Belhast smiled and let the man go. Then he rose and walked towards the door.

* * *

When he came to the hall he saw Gutrune descending from the stairs. She walked somewhat stiffly still, but didn't seem to be in nearly as bad a shape as the day before. Two plasters were still on her face, however, and black shadows under her eyes told about a badly slept night. Seeing this, Belhast felt some sympathy for her, and greeted her with some friendliness:

"Good morning! And thank you."

Gutrune, who noticed Belhast only now, blinked.

"Good morning to you, too. But – thanks for what?"

"Well, for patching Dummy up, of course. It was kindly done."

Gutrune smiled a little.

"But it doesn't change anything, you meant to add?"

"To put it bluntly, yes."

Gutrune's smile became a little forced when she answered:

"Oh, I know it well enough. I just remembered when I got up this morning that the poor horse had got hurt. It bothered me and I decided to check it."

Belhast returned her smile.

"I see. Very well, thanks again."

Belhast took a step to leave, but saw Gutrune looking at him like she wanted to say something. He stopped to hear what it was, but she only bit her lip, averted her eyes from him and walked past him to the common room. Belhast briefly looked after her, frowning a little. Her behaviour puzzled him. He could understand that the woman was regretting what she had done, and trying to make amends. But there was something else, also, behind her words and looks. What could it be? And, why was he feeling suddenly a little disappointed, even though he didn't even know for what?

He scratched his left eyebrow with a thoughtful air, then turned and ascended the staircase slowly. When he did so, he cast these worries aside as useless and stupid. There was so much else to plan and do that he didn't want to waste time to anything else. Gutrune was no longer a threat, and thus, not worth worrying over any more. Still, the picture of her face appeared briefly in Belhast's mind when he reached the door of his room.

He remembered her expression of terror when she had realized she was caught and his own reaction to it. It had been dark glee, a poisonous rush of joy of revenge. Also, when he thought of the manner in which he had questioned her, he realized he had acted at least much out of a strangely personal and deep anger than out of any sensible or practical purpose. What had been the use of compelling a frightened woman to reveal things of her past, anyway? It had been at least partly a mere show of power. The thought frightened and shamed Belhast. Was he really like that, or had past humiliations and wrongs he had endured spoken through him?

He sighed and opened the door.

* * *

The day went peacefully, the brothers staying in their room, except that Belhast spent an hour in the afternoon walking around the premises of the inn. The light exercise seemed to help him to think, a welcome thing to him at that moment. During the walk he decided to talk with Finrosc. Accordingly, when they had eaten dinner and the plates had been taken away Belhast said:

"I have been thinking, Roscy. I'm afraid we were quite hard with Gutrune."

Finrosc scoffed.

"Oh, were we, now? What should we have done, let her slink off with our money and wish her the best of luck, huh?"

"I don't mean the fight, of course! I mean when we pressed her to tell those things. Wasn't it quite needless, after all?"

Finrosc thought for a moment before he answered, now less sarcastically:

"No, I don't think so. Better safe than sorry. It was only wise to get to know as much as possible about her. Besides, she brought it on herself." He frowned.

"Why are you even talking about this? What's it to you if she got a little frightened?"

Belhast replied, somewhat slowly:

"I don't really know. I just remembered how I felt at the moment and it made me uncomfortable." He looked Finrosc in the eyes.

"Roscy, do you think that we are what we are from the birth, unchangeably, or that what happens to us moulds us?"

Finrosc raised his eyebrows in sudden puzzlement.

"Since when have you been a philosopher? I thought you laugh at them."

"I do, but sometimes one stumbles upon things that make him think. You see, I remember that I was pretty bewildered and unsure about everything when I started my new life five years ago. One day I heard a man lecturing in a public garden in the First Circle, you know, in the way the philosophers usually do. Well, so there he stood on a stone bench and was just explaining his thoughts to a small group when I happened to walk by."

"What has this to do with anything?"

"Wait, I'm coming to the point. You see, much of what the man prattled about was that tired talk about virtue and temperance and such. But then he said something which made me think. 'Know yourself.' So he said and then he repeated that so gravely that I couldn't laugh, even though I had almost done so during the virtue speech. And then I stood there and wondered if I really knew myself and who in Mordor I now was or had been before. I had no idea."

Finrosc seemed now unusually serious. He asked:

"And now?"

"More than then, but still not enough."

Finrosc replied, counting on his fingers:

"Well, first off you are my foster-brother, then you are a fortune-teller, then you are a subject of the King of Gondor, and then..."

Belhast waved his hand, cutting him short.

"That is only what I'm on outside. But the thing is: What I truly am, in the inside? What –"

He stroked his forehead wearily.

"Oh, I can't explain it to you. That's because I can't fully grasp it myself. Still, that lecturing man had a very good point. I realized it again today."

He rose and paced to and fro for a few steps. Then he said, a little embarrassed:

"Let's drop the subject, shall we? I am very tired, and that must make me such a chatterbox."

Finrosc replied:

"Yes, let's. How about you put out those candles? I think I want to sleep now, and I recommend the same to you."

Nodding, Belhast used the candle extinguisher and started to undress in the darkness. After he had wrapped himself in his blankets he exchanged the good night wishes with Finrosc and cast all philosophy away, starting to seek sleep instead.

* * *

Finrosc's knee was somewhat slow in healing, so the brothers had reluctantly to postpone their departure until after Yule. They spent the days lazing in their room, talking or sleeping. Eglamir paid them a visit every day, to check their injuries. On the first day of Yule, after Eglamir had changed the bandage on Finrosc's knee and departed, the latter asked from Belhast:

"What do you think of that dunadan? We must decide soon if we let him accompany us or not when we leave."

"He's a mysterious type, sure, but I think he's good to be around in case of trouble. Without him, we could well have died a few days ago. Besides, we cannot get rid of him now without it looking more or less strange," Belhast replied.

"That's sure, but I'm still loathe to trust him. He has weird friends, as we saw in Bree, and anything he told us could well be a lie. Before I see some proof that he's who he says he is, I will not have more to do with him than what is absolutely necessary."

Belhast nodded.

"You are right. Still, even if he hides something, I deem he will not rob or kill us if we trust him."

"How so?"

"Well, if he would have had that in his mind he would have done it at the ford when we were helpless. That would have been a perfect opportunity because he would not even have been punished for it, but rather clapped on the back as a hero who had killed two horse thieves and their female accomplice."

Finrosc pondered upon this and replied:

"That actually makes sense. Very well, you have almost convinced me. Still, I won't buy his story about being a retired soldier and what not if he doesn't show us some proof."

Belhast said:

"You can ask that from him soon enough, anyway. I talked with the landlord in the morning and he told me that he's going to arrange Yule dinners today and tomorrow. Do you think you can hop to the common room and back with my help?"

Finrosc nodded.

"Why not, my knee doesn't ache much anymore. I guess the dinner won't affect our bill too much?"

"Oh, no, the drinks are free, as is the food. The landlord told me that it is his annual custom. He also said that he had arranged it so that we two and Eglamir will have our own table. So, he at least thinks we are travelling companions," finished Belhast with a smile.

"How about Gutrune? I hope she will not be in the same table," asked Finrosc dryly.

"Oh, I was told that she will have a table for her own. Our host emphasized to me that he 'runs a decent house and not some shady dive', as he put it, and the fact that Gutrune isn't married to any of us seemed to mean a great deal to him," grinned Belhast.

"That's well then. Wake me up when the fun starts," answered Finrosc, and turned on his side on the bed he had been lying on.

* * *

The evening came and the tenants of the inn gathered in the brightly-lit common room, Belhast and Finrosc among them. The innkeeper had loaned a walking stick to the latter, and the bard didn't need much help save in the stairs. When he and Belhast entered the common room, they saw that they were the last ones to arrive.

Looking around, they soon noticed Eglamir, who was sitting in a table next to the inner wall. On the table, across him, were two sets of dining utensils and dishes already waiting. The brothers made their way across the room, greeted the dunadan and took their seats. After they had done so, the servants began to carry food and drink to the customers, the landlord supervising them and exchanging a word or two with each of his clients. The brothers and Eglamir watched this in silence, and only spoke when the landlord approached them and asked if everything was to their liking. They replied in the positive, and their host retired with a satisfied smile.

The feast began, but Belhast and Finrosc still couldn't speak with Eglamir. That was because the landlord insisted on giving rather too long a speech, in which he greeted all the "gracious gentlefolks" present, finishing with wishing them all merry Yule in his house and safe travels and fair weather and a thousand other good things when they would choose to leave "the humble abode" of the landlord. Whereas the man didn't approach anywhere near of Barnabas Butterbur's flood of words, he still was quite long-winded and many of the guests seemed to hide yawns before he finished. Finally he stopped and sat on his own long table with most of his household.

That was the sign for the guests to pick up their knives and spoons and to attack the mass of food before them. The fare was excellent, with thick vegetable broth, smoked salmon, peas and sweet mead as the first course. They were followed by roasted pork and various birds, along which generous helpings of vegetables and spiced sauces were provided. All this was accompanied by copious amounts of beer that almost rivalled The Prancing Pony's brew.

The three men ate in silence the first course, but when the main course had been brought to them, Finrosc finally addressed Eglamir:

"I and Belhast have talked and if you are still interested in travelling with us we might consider it."

"Good. In fact, I had in mind to ask you about this," replied the dunadan.

Finrosc raised his index finger as a sign he had not finished and went on:

"But, first we must know a little more about you. You can't fault us if we are careful, especially after the mishap you yourself witnessed."

Eglamir nodded.

"You are perfectly right. Very well, only ask and I will answer."

Belhast chimed in:

"First, you told us you are a retired soldier. That sounds plausible enough, but we still would like to see some proof, just to set all doubts aside."

Eglamir put his hand inside his tunic and drew out a cylinder skilfully made of boiled and hardened leather. He removed the top and carefully slid a rolled piece of parchment out, speaking at the same time:

"I anticipated that you could ask this, so I brought my discharge documents with me when I came down. I hope they will set your minds at ease."

He opened the scroll with care and handed it to Finrosc, who studied it closely. Then the latter handed it to Belhast, who likewise took a sharp look at the document. It was written both in Sindarin and in Westron, stating in official-sounding terms that Eglamir of Westbrooks, age eighty-two, had been honourably discharged from the King's Rangers of Arthedain's army. The name was followed by a description of said Eglamir for additional authenticity. The description fit perfectly the dunadan sitting across the brothers, even mentioning the scars and the missing teeth. The document mentioned the faithful service of twenty years, because of which Eglamir of Westbrooks was given good recommendations. In the bottom of the parchment was the official signature of the commander of the Rangers, verified by the signature of his aide, beside which was a large, perfectly legible seal sporting the emblems of Arthedain.

All in all, the document fully convinced Belhast. He was not familiar with these kinds of official papers, but he knew full well that forging documents with royal seals was a capital crime. Therefore, it could almost be ruled out that the document could be false. With the precise description of the bearer it was also laughable to think that Eglamir could have acquired the paper from someone else. Therefore, Belhast handed the document back to Eglamir, saying:

"So, that much is clear. Thanks for showing this to us. By the way, how did you get those weapons of yours? I know that at least in Gondor they don't give you those for your own when you leave the army."

"If you know that much, you also know that it is common for soldiers to buy their own weapons with their pay. I did so. You should really see what garbage they occasionally call issue equipment," said Eglamir, smiling the thin smile he used much.

The brothers looked at each other. Then Finrosc asked:

"Well, one more question if you allow. Who were those two soldiers who spoke to you at the ford?"

Eglamir leaned back a little and answered leisurely:

"They? They were just old friends of mine, whom I met in the army. They were at a leave in Bree and I happened to meet them there. In fact, they and Mithrandir helped me to settle the things down in Bree after your rather hasty departure."

"They didn't seem too friendly when they spoke with you, however."

Eglamir grinned again.

"Well, what would your mood be if you were compelled to waste a part of your precious leave in handling such a messy affair? We had quarrelled, if you want to know, but I am sure they will get over it soon enough."

Finrosc glanced at Belhast, who nodded. The bard then replied:

"Good. So, I guess we will continue our journey with you as long as it is convenient for both parties. That, I trust, suits you too."

"Yes, it does," Eglamir answered, pouring beer from a large jug to his tankard. He offered the jug to the brothers, saying:

"It is settled then. Let us talk more about this later and now let us continue with this delightful meal."

The brothers assented and toasted with Eglamir. Belhast took a big swig from his tankard and set it down on the table. Doing so, his eyes caught Gutrune looking at him. She was sitting in a corner table all alone, looking very lonely and downcast. When she saw that Belhast had noticed her, she looked away and continued with her dinner.

Belhast raised his tankard again and drank. Somehow, he wanted beer tonight, and lots of it.

* * *

Read and review, please. I was a bit unsure about if I should include the dialogue with Belhast's tale of the philosopher and a few other bits. In spite of them, I am not planning to change this story into an angstfest or a philosophical essay, so there's nothing to fear. I merely thought that this kind of content could add some depth to the story. If I am too hamfisted with scenes like this, I trust you readers will notify me, so that I can make changes if necessary.


	28. Chapter 28: Over the Border

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

* * *

Chapter 28: Over the Border

The second day of Yule and the first day of the new year went by uneventfully. Finrosc's knee got rapidly better and in the evening of the first day of January the brothers and Eglamir finally could agree that they would leave the next day. Accordingly, they rose early the following morning and collected their belongings. The brothers now strapped the short swords they had bought in Tharbad in their belts. They had put them in their packs when arriving in Bree and then forgotten about them in the excitement of the following day. When Eglamir saw that they had taken this precaution, he nodded approvingly.

"You are armed, I see. Very good."

After a hearty breakfast the three men paid their bills, bought some food and feed for the horses and led the said beasts of burden out of the stable. Before that, Belhast checked Dummy once more and to his delight saw that the spear-wound was now fully healed. The gelding did not seem to bear any grudge, moreover, but affectionately pushed Belhast with its head when he led it from its stall. The man smiled and scratched it on the root of its mane before heading for the stable door.

It was not as cold as a few days before, and a thin cover of almost white clouds spread over the sky. Still, the temperature was below freezing, and after the warmth of the inn it made the brothers shiver. Even though they knew that they eventually would have had to move onwards, they still cast longing glances towards the inn when they walked down the lane leading to the gate. After a short while they were through it and on the road again. Turning left, towards east, they tightened the straps of their packs and started to walk.

* * *

The road remained as wide and well-made as ever when they travelled towards the border, but the terrain changed noticeably during the following days. The travellers found that what they had heard in The Forsaken Inn was true, for the fields and villages grew scarcer and scarcer the farther they journeyed. The forest, however, grew taller and thicker here in lack of anyone to cut it for firewood or buildings. The vegetation, or what could be seen of it through the snow, also was different. Bushes and other undergrowth, excepting juniper, were fewer and not so thick as further to the west, perhaps because the plants could not get as much light through the foliage.

The road was completely covered by snow, except for small patches where the wind had pushed the snow aside. There were no wheel tracks or even footprints for long stretches to help the travellers to wade onwards. This, along with the open floor of the forest, led to a curious situation when the trio found that in many places it was actually easier to go on along the brink of the forest, where snow was thinner, than on the road. The men also discussed briefly about taking turns in riding the horses now that they had two of them. But finally they decided against it, since as Finrosc remarked, the animals had already enough trouble in carrying their equipment in this terrain.

During the afternoon of their first day of travel the air changed, too. It felt somewhat moist, and a faint, curious smell pervaded the air. Finrosc sniffed the air and asked:

"Does anyone know what this smell is? I'd say we are near a lot of water, but there's not even a brook to be seen."

"You are right, actually," said Eglamir, "we are near water. An enormous swamp, known as the Midgewater Marshes, lies only two miles to the north."

"It can't be too nice a place, judging from how it reeks."

"It is not. If it was summer, the smell would be even worse. The swamp is a home to to multitudes of insects, especially mosquitoes and grasshoppers. It does not fully freeze even in winter, and in summer it is a nest of fever. The ancient roadbuilders were wise to avoid the place and make a slight bend around it. Do not worry, in two days at most we have left the unwholesome air behind us."

Finrosc nodded silently, and the discussion was over. The ground began to rise, and the road ascended a low ridge that ran almost at a straight angle across it. When they were on the top of the ridge, Eglamir stopped and pointed towards the north.

"Look! There are the marshes I spoke of. A lovely sight, is it not?"

The brothers looked and, indeed, not far away there spread a flat, treeless stretch of land that continued to the horizon in the east. It was dotted by what looked like brown and grey stains, evidently the most watery spots of the swamp.

"Very cheery indeed! I'm glad we are nowhere nearer it."

Eglamir nodded.

"Wise words. I have once been there, and it certainly was enough."

Belhast asked, a little surprised:

"When was that? And why on earth did you want to visit such a place?"

The dunadan wiped some snow from the packs Alagos was carrying and replied with some amusement:

"Oh, it was not me who wanted me to go there, it was my commander. It was some eleven years ago. The squad I belonged in was chasing four deserters who had turned into bandits, and those fellows had hidden amidst the bushes and grasses of the marshes. We had to comb the marsh for three days, and nearly lost two men when their foot slipped and they fell into the reeking morass. Fortunately we could drag them back on the dry ground before anything worse befell them. It was a very slow and weary search, I can tell you."

He fell silent, but Finrosc asked:

"And the bandits, did you find them?"

"We did," was the curt reply. Belhast, however, was now curious and wanted to know more:

"So, what happened to them?"

Eglamir paused for a moment, then said:

"Two tried to escape and drowned in the swamp because in their haste they did not look where they stepped. One surrendered and we brought him back to be executed. The last one, however, was a fool. He decided to try to break through our squad of ten and attacked. I killed him."

The straightforward, dry manner of the reply silenced the brothers. Casting a last look at the swamp the travellers began to walk again, soon descending the eastward slope.

* * *

During the following days they journeyed on with a good speed considering the circumstances, covering from twenty to twenty-five miles a day. That, however, meant that they had to rise before the sunrise each morning and walk for ten or eleven hours a day, until the sun had long set. Belhast blessed the horses in his mind, for without them the men could not have kept the pace they did. As it was, it was quite tiring. Still, the land was so inhospitable in this season that the sooner they would come to a more populated region, the better.

Due to the season, the road was nearly empty of other travellers. A few times, however, they met people journeying on the road, all of them westwards. They asked about the lands ahead from them, but learned nothing that was at the least enlightening. For the most part, those who they spoke to seemed to be more intent on minding their own business than conversing with total strangers. Therefore, the travellers gave it soon up and continued their own journey.

On the first night they had to camp on the roadside. They lit a small fire in a thicket from where the light could not be seen very far away. When they sat down to eat their dinner, they discussed about setting a watch. They came to the conclusion that every man should take his turn, Eglamir being the first this night. When this was settled, Belhast and Finrosc crept to the shelter they had erected for themselves. When they were wrapping themselves in the blankets, Finrosc whispered:

"You go to sleep, Belhast, and I will stay awake. I want to make sure that our new friend won't play any tricks to us."

Belhast replied:

"Very well, but wake me up if you are feeling sleepy."

"I'll do so."

Belhast lied down on his back and closed his eyes.

* * *

He awoke to a heavy snoring coming from next to him. He had no idea how much time had elapsed, but it had been enough for Finrosc to fall asleep. Annoyed by the noise, Belhast punched the bard with his elbow. The latter didn't even wake up, but merely ceased snoring, changed his posture and continued to sleep quietly. Belhast shook his head at Finrosc, then rose a little and peered out of the shelter.

All he could see was the fire and Eglamir, who sat beside it. The glitter of the flames coloured the dunadan's face red and orange, as well as the bushes surrounding the camp site. Eglamir was just stripping bark from a log of birch, most probably to make dry kindling for the next day. Every now and then the man raised his head and seemed to listen to the sounds of the night. There was very little to hear, though. Occasionally snow fell from the branches of a tree, or a rabbit rustled through the woods, but otherwise all was silent. If anyone would have tried to sneak on the travellers, they would have heard it. This, along with Eglamir's placid manner, reassured Belhast. He fell back on the fir branches that served as his hammock and drew his blanket to his ears. Then he slept again.

* * *

The rest of the night was uneventful. Eglamir shook Finrosc awake about an hour before the midnight to keep watch. The latter, even though perhaps a little annoyed about his sleepiness, did not show it but rose and stretched his limbs, while Eglamir took to the shelter he had made for himself. Finrosc obviously managed to keep awake this time, since he promptly awakened Belhast four hours later and without even bothering to say anything laid down and started to snore.

Belhast rubbed his eyes and struggled with his blankets a bit before he could shake them off. Then he came out of the shelter on all fours. After standing up he looked around him. Outside the thicket all was dark, as the moon had already set, but inside the ring of the undergrowth it was cosy and relatively warm. On the brink of the light stood the horses, sleeping after the day's exertions. Belhast made sure that there was enough feed before them to eat when they would wake up and then sat next to the fire.

He fed the fire with a few branches and stared into the flames for a while, thinking. Suddenly he missed his little house bitterly. If he hadn't undertaken this quest he would even now lie in his own bed, between worn but clean sheets. And at the morning he would rise to face a day's work that was none too exhausting or demanding. He wondered what his customers thought about his disappearance, especially the merchant who had been his most regular customer.

"Oh well, I guess he just has to find another fortune-teller. If the cards were right, he can afford a dozen of them now if he wants," Belhast thought with a mixture of amusement and regret.

He briefly wondered why he had assented to come with Finrosc in the first place. He had had a nice home, food on his table and some money, sometimes even so much that he could afford an evening in the tavern or perhaps going to see a farce in a little, shabby theatre in the Second Circle. But then Finrosc had come to visit and suddenly he had just abandoned all. Belhast knew well that Finrosc had often had that kind of influence on him in the past, but it wasn't the whole reason.

No, the main reason was something else entirely. With the way he had been living, he had always been on the brink of poverty. A simple thing like a long sickness could have toppled everything and sent him back on the streets, because save as he might, he could not scrape together much. The idea of returning to the gutter was intolerable, and this mission had promised so much more. Besides, even if the life he had led had been better than that of a criminal, it had regularly been dreadfully dull and depressing. Belhast was not addicted to excitement, rather the opposite, but at times he had still wondered if this really was all he could expect from the rest of his life. And then Finrosc had come and conjured up the hope of a huge sum of money...

Belhast thought about what he could do with the money, and suddenly it sounded very sensible that he had agreed to go with Finrosc. His ideas , however, were still quite vague, circling around a nice country house in Lossarnach, or maybe Ithilien. That thought, and planning how he would furnish the house, warmed him almost more than the fire next to him. He smiled to himself, enjoying the stillness of the night and his own cloud castles.

* * *

After some time Belhast stirred and rose. Even though he didn't have a clock he could tell that his watch was nearing its end. It was still dark, but a subtle change in the air told him that the dawn was near. Therefore, he took all the kettles and started to melt snow in them. When it had done so and the water almost boiled, he poured it into a wooden bucket, mixing snow in it until the bucket was full. Belhast dipped his fingers into the vessel, feeling the temperature of the water. Being satisfied that it was not too cold nor too warm, he carried the bucket before the horses and watched them drink.

The horses had became somewhat accustomed to each other during the journey without too much problems. That was because Alagos, being the bigger and stronger one, had assumed the position of the leader almost instantly. Dummy, as a gelding and being more timid by nature, had accepted this more or less placidly. Accordingly, when Belhast put the bucket on the ground, Alagos stepped forward first and started to drink, whereas Dummy humbly gave way to it.

Belhast turned away and returned to the fire to melt another batch of snow. This was a toilsome way to water the horses, but during the season almost the only one. There had been a few brooks and ponds along the way that had not been frozen over, but the water was so cold that the horses refused to drink much of it. Consequently, Belhast did not complain even though he did not like the extra work this meant for the travellers.

When the water steamed again Belhast went to fetch the bucket. He saw that Alagos, at least, had got enough since it had now let Dummy to approach the bucket. There were only some drops left in it, however, so Belhast took the vessel from before the gelding and filled it again. Dummy lapped the water eagerly, while Belhast moved the remains of the feed away from the horses, knowing full well that eating so soon after drinking would make the animals sluggish.

This accomplished, he turned his attention to making breakfast. While he was thus occupied, Eglamir stirred and emerged from his shelter. Belhast turned his head and greeted him:

"Good morning, or should I say night?"

"Either one suits me," said Eglamir, slightly shaking his limbs.

The dunadan walked next to the fire and helped in preparing the food. He did not speak anything, but Belhast was not surprised by it in the least. During the previous day's journey he had noticed that Eglamir was talkative enough, when addressed or asked something, but that he hardly talked on his own initiative. Belhast had met many somewhat similar people before, so after a little wondering he had come to think that perhaps the man just was not that inclined to light chatter. In fact, that suited Belhast much better than Gutrune's curious remarks and questions had done.

While Eglamir was making tea, Belhast roused Finrosc and the brothers rolled their blankets. They did not bother with dismantling the shelters except that they removed the tent canvasses and folded them for packing. They ate a decent breakfast, after which they fed the horses and packed most of their things on the animals' backs. After that it remained only to extinguish the fire and emerge from the thicket to face a new day of toil.

* * *

On the fourth day of their journey the character of the surroundings changed again. The soil became drier and the trees grew scarcer, pine and fir dominating the woods. There were more ridges, too, most of them running from north to south across the road. The travellers evidently were nearing higher lands than before. They drudged through the snow for the whole day and managed to reach an isolated farmstead at evening, where they got shelter and food for that night for a small price.

The next day they continued onwards, somewhat invigorated by the warmth of the last night. Thus, by the noon they had walked for a little more than ten miles. When the lunchtime was nearing they ascended a steep, long ridge. When on the top, they paused to admire the sight before them.

The land that spread before them was sparsely wooded, until it transformed into a bare moor at some distance. The desolate plain extended far to the north and east, the shadow of the forest stretching over brink of the horizon. From the moor rose, however, a chain of round hills that continued to the north farther than eyes could see. On the southernmost hill stood a mighty tower of grey stone. Its height could not be accurately guessed from this far, but it could not have been less than a hundred feet. A smaller turret crowned the tower, and when looking at it Belhast suddenly felt like he was being watched. He flinched a little, wanting to hide, but then realized the senselessness of the impulse.

"That is Emyn Sûl, my friends," spoke Eglamir, tearing Belhast's attention away from the tower.

"Sorry, what did you say? I wasn't listening," he replied, somewhat startled.

"Emyn Sûl, the Weather Hills," the dunadan repeated, making a sweeping gesture with his hand.

"Do you see that ridge to the east of them? The border of Rhudaur runs in the middle of it." He made another gesture, now towards south.

"Cardolan, for its part, lies not many miles that way."

The brothers looked and could indeed see the mentioned ridge. There was no signs of it being a border of two kingdoms other than a small dot, which Belhast thought was a guardhouse, on the slope that was visible to him. He looked at it for a moment and asked:

"I wonder, Eglamir, why there are three kingdoms in the North in the first place? I remember reading from somewhere that at some point there was only one."

"Ah, there you touch an old and grave problem," replied the dunadan, continuing: "What you said is true, there once was only one realm called Arnor. It was founded by Elendil, of whom you have surely heard."

The brothers nodded in assent, not even bothering to say anything. Everyone in Gondor knew that name, even if not much else about the history of his country. Eglamir went on:

"I need not go into details about the history of Arnor, so suffice it to say that for eight centuries the kingdom thrived. Not nearly as well as Gondor, that is sure, but for that time the dunedain very slowly increased and the common folk had peace and prosperity. That was not to last, however, since in the year eight hundred and sixty-one of this Age the last King of Arnor died, leaving three sons. The oldest of them was meant to become the new King, but his brothers were ambitious men, wanting rather to be kings of small realms than mere princes in a great one."

Finrosc interrupted by asking:

"Why did the eldest son accept this, rather than putting the others in their places?"

"No one knows for sure. The official history of Arthedain tells that Amlaith, the crown prince, did not want to shed royal blood but rather, out of the goodness and nobility of his heart, raised his undeserving and ungrateful brothers to a position equal to his own. According this, if the dividing of the kingdom was a mistake, it was one born out of good intentions."

Eglamir paused briefly, smiling dryly. Then he spoke again:

"Be that as it may, there are other versions, also. In Cardolan and Rhudaur the royal chroniclers insist that Amlaith was a vicious tyrant from whom his noble brothers wrested their rightful prize. Which of the two was nobler depends of the kingdom one lives in, of course. And yet, many in all three realms whisper of quite another story. They say that Amlaith was simply a coward who gave in at the first hint of a threat and thus needlessly split the realm of his father. Of these stories you may choose to believe whatever you like best."

"In which do you believe, Eglamir?" asked Belhast.

The dunadan looked at distance, apparently pondering what to say. Then he replied:

"In none of them. The duties and worries of kings are so many, that who can say what are all the reasons behind their deeds? Even though there must be only one truth behind every history, it often is so complex that one cannot grasp the entirety of it. The consequences, however, remain the same and we must deal with them. And now we face one of those consequences, since before the day is much older we have crossed over to Rhudaur."

He turned his back on the brothers and walked down the road, leading Alagos. He called over his shoulders:

"Are you coming?"

The foster-brothers followed him, Belhast leading Dummy behind him.

* * *

When they came nearer the hill with the tower, they discussed if they should pause to eat. They agreed soon that it would be most convenient to go over the border as soon as possible and eat properly only in Rhudaur. Thus, they only buttered a few pieces of bread which they ate while walking.

It took them two hours to reach the foot of Amon Sûl. Only when they arrived there could they see any soldiers, appearing in the form of a strong patrol riding towards them from the direction of the tower. The man heading the patrol seemed to wave at them, as a signal to stop perhaps. Seeing this, the travellers remained standing where they were. Belhast was quite uneasy and a glance at Finrosc told him that the bard was worried, too. Eglamir, on his part, was calm as ever and stood still, holding Alagos's reins loosely in his right hand.

When the patrol reached them, Belhast could see that it consisted of twenty soldiers, ten of which were archers or crossbowmen. Their leader, however, was the one catching the fullest attention of the travellers. He was a tall man, clad in a knight's garb. He had a long hauberk that reached down to his knees protecting his body, and leggings of mail over his lower limbs. A coif of mail and an open helm with a downwards-protruding nose cover completed his armour. The hauberk was partially covered by a short surcoat of black fabric and silver embroidery around the hem and the short sleeves, those being the colours of the dunedain. On the leader's belt hung a very long sword that seemed to be meant for two-handed use. To this grandeur was added a dark cloak thrown over his shoulders. Belhast noticed that two thin, wooden plates on both of which was painted a heraldic device were fastened on the shoulders of the cloak. He looked carefully and saw that the emblem was that of a silver tower standing on a silver-coloured hill, all on a deep blue background. All in all, it seemed that their new acquaintance was quite an important man.

The man now called out to them:

"Stay where you are, in the name of the King! We will only conduct a fast search."

When none of the travellers moved, he rode nearer. When he did so, Belhast suddenly realized that the man looked familiar. He had seen that chin somewhere, to be sure. The knight was now only a few yards of them and reined his horse in. Removing his helm, he suddenly said:

"Ah, it is you again. Pardon me, I did not recognize you at first."

He looked at Eglamir while he spoke, but the brothers, for their part, glanced at each other. The knight was, in fact, one of the soldiers they had seen at the ford more than a week ago. Now that they looked again at the patrol, they could also see the other one riding behind the knight. The moment did not seem suitable to asking questions, however, so the Gondorians kept their mouths shut and waited for the outcome of this encounter.

Eglamir now said to the knight:

"Yes, indeed, it is us. But what is all this fuss you are making? Is there trouble brewing in the neighbouring kingdoms?"

"Nothing like that," was the reply, "but merely a band of brigands that has slipped from Cardolan to bother honest travellers. I have strict orders to question everyone who moves in this area and search their belongings. So, I must ask you to open your packs even though I know you. It is a mere formality, I assure you, and after that you are free to go."

The three men obeyed the order, because it would have been senseless to argue with that much of armed might. The Breelander descended from his saddle and walked over to them, flashing a grin at the brothers.

"How do you do? I trust you won't think us thieves anymore, so that I can take a peek at your things?"

Belhast bit his lips in embarrassment, but Finrosc said civilly enough:

"That was only a little misunderstanding, you know. Please, go ahead."

The soldier did so, but seemed to make only a show of a search. He merely glanced inside each pack and sack, and then turned to address the knight:

"Nothing here, sir!"

The knight said:

"Good. Mount again."

The Breelander walked to his horse with a brisk step and leapt on the saddle. When that was done, the knight spoke again to the three men:

"Now that that is done, please follow me."

Belhast and Finrosc almost panicked hearing this, fearing that they were under arrest. Belhast mustered what little courage he had left and said:

"But, honourable sir, I thought you said we are free to go after the search?"

The knight cast a condescending glance at him and replied, while donning his helm again:

"Another order, my good man. We are to escort every person going east safely over the border. Remain calm, since no evil will befall to you by us."

The answer somewhat reassured the brothers, but Belhast still could not help feeling fear when the soldiers surrounded the trio at the command of the knight. At a signal from him, this strange column began to move towards the border, the soldiers riding on all sides and the three men walking in the middle.

The walk lasted for an hour and half, and during it the brothers did not utter a single word. When they went past the path that forked from the road towards the tower, however, they started to breathe more easily. It seemed that they wouldn't get arrested, after all, and after realizing that Belhast managed to relax considerably. He looked around, and saw that Eglamir was walking at the side of the knight. They seemed to talk, but in so low voices that not a word could be heard.

At length the column went up the ridge that Eglamir had pointed out earlier. When they reached the top, the soldiers stopped and divided on both sides of the road to let the travellers through. Now the trio could see ahead, and Belhast noticed that the border was marked with two tall and thick poles, one on each side of the road. On their western side they were painted with black and silver, denoting Arthedain, and on the east side with dark green and gold, the colours of Rhudaur.

The knight signed at the trio to walk onwards and they did so. Just as they passing the poles, the knight said:

"Eglamir, I wish you again safe travels. May your luck be better wherever you go than what it has been heretofore!"

Eglamir stopped to reply:

"I wish so too. Farewell!"

Then he turned again and marched over the border, followed by the brothers. The knight barked a command to his men, and they rode towards the tower. When the echo of the hooves had quieted, Belhast paused for a moment and swept his eyes towards the land opening before him. It was dull, flat plain for some miles but behind it stood the forests from which the kingdom had got its name, blackish-green and gloomy in the scant light of the winter day. For a moment Belhast wondered what was in store for them there. But then he drew his cap deeper in his head and started to walk with a brisk step to overtake the others who were now a little ahead him.

* * *

Read and review, please.

Rhudaur="The Eastern Forest", hence the allusion in the last paragraph.

As for the heraldic plates on the knight's shoulders, these kinds of devices were common in the 13th century, on which period I have based my descriptions of weapons and armour, following Tolkien.


	29. Chapter 29: Dangers of Fear

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1. The name of Cameth Brin, which is mentioned in this chapter, is taken from the role-playing game ICE-MERP, and therefore, is not owned by me. In absence of canonical information about Rhudaur, I will use some information from the aforementioned game books. This, however, will be restricted almost exclusively to Rhudaur and even there mainly to using some place names.

* * *

Chapter 29: Dangers of Fear

When Belhast overtook the other men, he heard Finrosc speaking in a sarcastic tone:

"So, Eglamir, one of your army pals is suddenly a knight. I suppose you are the Duke of Bullshit Heap, then?"

The dunadan answered coolly:

"I am a mere corporal, now retired. And what is it to you if my friend is a knight?"

"Come now, you can't deny it seems very weird," said Finrosc with some heat. "Also, what about that they were supposed to be on leave? It certainly seemed like they were very much on duty now."

"That is because they were," was the quick retort. "You see, there's a perfectly good explanation for this. My friends were on the leave precisely because the other one of them was knighted just this autumn. The Breelander got an assignment as his squire, because he had acted as his batman when he was a mere ensign. Then both of them were transferred to the garrison of Amon Sûl, but before that they were given some days to visit their homes in Breeland. I cannot see what is the problem here."

Finrosc frowned, as if hesitating. But he was not about to leave the thing be, but continued:

"You did not speak about any of this before. Why?"

Eglamir shrugged.

"I did not know that you were so interested in military affairs, otherwise I could have told you. It did not seem to have any importance, you see."

Finrosc was now silent, but Belhast asked:

"Do they really knight people in Arthedain just like that?"

"Of course not. He had to earn his spurs with hard work. He has over ten years of service behind him, and valiant service at that." Eglamir smiled as he went on:

"It goes without saying that the fact that he is one of the Men of Westernesse did not hurt his prospects. Had he been one of the lesser folk, it could well be otherwise."

He paused to straighten his wrinkled coat cuffs, then added with some sarcasm:

"Is this enough for you or should I tell you his whole service history? Or, of course, we could always go back so that you could question him yourself."

Finrosc merely scoffed at that, and the brothers fell silent. Belhast's suspicions, however, had half awakened again. The story was coherent and possible. Think as he might, Belhast could not decipher any reason to lie that Eglamir could have. And the fact remained that the two dunedain certainly seemed to know each other. Then he changed the direction of his thoughts: Even if Eglamir was hiding something, was it something that could affect the brothers' lot? It seemed unlikely to Belhast who still was convinced that the dunadan entertained no plans of robbing or harming them. He resolved not to bother too much about the thing, but to keep an eye at the man when needed.

* * *

They continued through the moor for two hours. Although they were already hungry, they did not pause to eat. That was because they, or at least the brothers, felt too exposed and small to pause any more than was necessary. The first signs of sunset set in just as they reached the first cluster of trees.

There they also encountered the first sign of military presence on this side of the border. A small guardhouse made of smoothed stone stood amidst the trees on the brink of the road. Two bored-looking soldiers in leather armour sat on a bench leaning against the wall. When they saw the travellers, they sprang up and one of them shouted:

"Stop right there! What is your business in this land?"

The soldiers strode to the trio and repeated the question. The travellers gave them the same story as to everybody else, and the soldiers seemed to take it without suspicion. They, too, made a cursory search by opening the packs and peering inside. As there was nothing to excite suspicion – especially since Finrosc kept his sandbag in his pocket now – the soldiers closed the packs again. The one who had shouted to them, a corporal, now looked at the trio from head to toe and noticed the long sword Eglamir was carrying under his cloak, as well as those of the brothers. The weapons packed on Alagos's back did not escape his attention, either. He asked:

"Why have you those? You had better have a good reason, for I'm loathe to let armed strangers to wander in this land."

Eglamir answered:

"Is it not obvious? In these times we would be fools not to be armed. We already have had trouble from wolves during our journey, and if the news I have heard from Rhudaur are correct the land is anything but perfectly peaceful."

The corporal nodded and spoke with some chagrin:

"You are all too right, my good master. We try to do all we can to keep the roads safe, but the times are indeed troubled, with the threat of the North and the increasing numbers of the Hillmen moving to our kingdom. I hope that you will have no need to use your swords, however."

"Believe me, corporal, so do we," said Finrosc now.

The soldier grunted his assent and said:

"So, I let you go. If you meet a patrol, tell them that corporal Leif has given you leave to travel here."

The trio thanked the corporal and continued their journey.

* * *

After a while the road plunged into the forest the men had seen from afar. Pines and firs dominated the woods, giving the land a sombre, brooding look. From amidst the trees rose many boulders and at intervals a rocky hill loomed over the trees. Narrow gorges and hollows ran between them. All in all, it seemed like an ideal place for anyone wanting to hide.

Therefore, the travellers remained vigilant all the time, surveying the road ahead and behind them with wary eyes. They had met no one, however, by the time they sat to eat their belated lunch and feed the horses. After that was accomplished they continued onwards in the same manner as before. There was no sign of bandits, however. But an hour before the sundown they met a mounted patrol of Rhudaurian soldiers. The travellers mentioned the name of Leif to them and were allowed to go in peace. The rest of the day went peacefully by, and long after the sunset the men erected their camp on the wayside.

* * *

The next day was spent like the previous one in walking. The trio remained vigilant, but still all they could see was trees and some small, wild animals. When the twilight began to creep under the trees, the trio was again walking on the brink of the forest where the snow was thinner. All was still quiet and peaceful, which almost lulled the tired brothers away from their wariness. But suddenly Dummy halted, snorting in an alarmed way, then starting to whimper. The men wheeled around, loosing their weapons in their sheaths. There was nothing to see, however, peer as they might into the gloom. They remained standing like this for almost a minute, listening intently. Belhast was the first to loosen his grasp on his sword, saying:

"Now I got it! Strike light, someone, since I think there's nothing to fear."

"What is it then?" asked Finrosc, still startled.

"Didn't you hear how Dummy sounded? It was in pain, not fear. It must have stepped on something, nothing more."

The others relaxed, letting the weapons slide fully back in the sheaths. Eglamir stepped closer and lighted a small travel lantern. He held it aloft, as Belhast stooped to examine Dummy's feet. After a moment he clucked his tongue in an annoyed way.

"What is wrong? I cannot see," asked Finrosc, when Belhast raised the gelding's right front leg.

"Dummy has hurt itself on a bush full of thorns," was the exasperated answer. "The only damn bush for I don't know how many miles, and the dumb beast just has to walk over it! All because of this accursed snow."

Belhast bade Eglamir to hold the lantern lower and continued to examine the injured limb. Dummy seemed still to be in pain, but fell silent, perhaps realizing the humans tried to help it. It indeed had stepped in the centre of the bush, where the thorns were thickest and got badly pricked and scratched. The foot was already swelling when Belhast removed the thorns that had stuck in the flesh.

"What now?" asked Finrosc, when Belhast stood up.

"We'll find a place to stable Dummy until the swelling goes away, what else?" answered the fortune-teller in an irritable voice.

"If I remember correctly, there is a small farm only two miles, or so, to the east," Eglamir said.

Belhast asked:

"Have you been here before, then?"

"I once travelled to Cameth Brin and back," Eglamir said. "That, however, was over twenty years ago. Things have changed since, I see, but I still think our best option is to see if the farm still is there."

The brothers agreed, and they set onwards again with such pace that would not worsen Dummy's injury.

* * *

After one and a half of an hour of walking the men indeed reached a small clearing on the wayside. A grey log house stood on it, and surrounding the circular yard there were two sheds, a henhouse and a cowhouse. A stone well was in the middle of the yard, with a worn bucket and a rusted chain lying on its wooden cover. Behind the yard and a narrow strip of trees a snow-covered field could be seen. The place was altogether silent and despite of the relatively early hour, not a glimpse of light twinkled from between the house's shutters.

"Look at the snow, there's not a footprint on it," said Belhast after glancing around. "What's going on here?"

"The place must have been abandoned. Not a great wonder, really, since I have heard many people here are moving either to Arthedain or to the southern regions of Rhudaur," replied Eglamir. He tied Alagos to a nearby tree and said:

"Well, in any case the buildings still stand. Shall we take a look at them?"

The brothers assented and after tying Dummy next to Alagos, the men each lit a lantern or a candle, then dispersed to inspect the buildings. After peering into the sheds and the henhouse he was convinced that Eglamir was right; there was not a feather of the birds to be seen and what tools remained in the sheds were broken or worn out. All in all, it seemed that the farm had been abandoned in an orderly fashion, most probably only during the last summer or autumn. Closing the door of the bigger shed, Belhast called out:

"Nothing here! How about you others?"

"Absolutely nothing and nobody," replied Finrosc.

Eglamir, likewise, had seen nothing noteworthy, and the men waded through the snow to the threshold of the farmhouse. They knocked on the door and listened for a moment. Not a sound came from within, and the men entered. They came to a narrow entrance hall which had empty racks for tool on its walls. There was a torn rug on the floor and a pair of boots in a sad state of disrepair lying on the corner, but nothing else.

Two doors on each side of the hall led to inner rooms, and the men proceeded to open them. The rooms – the kitchen, two bedrooms and a wide common room – were almost empty, too. Only the heaviest furniture had been left behind when the owners had departed, but considering the circumstances it was much more than the travellers could have hoped for. A brief examination revealed that the kitchen stove and the enormous baking oven in the common room were both undamaged.

"Splendid! At last some real warmth," commented Finrosc as he took his flint and tinder from his pocket.

"Yes, and now we can tend Dummy's foot, too," said Belhast with a content smile.

Lighting the fire to the oven was a work of only a minute, and soon a comfortable warmth started to spread in the room. Belhast left the other men to unpack their blankets and went outside, carrying a lantern with him. He then led the horses to the abandoned stable. When he had conducted Alagos to a stall, he lit the lantern and looked at Dummy's foot again. If anything, the swelling had worsened and the horse avoided setting the hoof on ground. Clicking his tongue in a worried manner, Belhast straightened his back and pondered about what to do. The injury was not that bad in itself, but it certainly prevented the trio from travelling for some time. For a moment Belhast wished that Gutrune was still with them with her medicine box, but shrugged then. In the present circumstances he could do little more than wrap the injured spot in a warm swathe and hope that it would work swiftly.

Accordingly, he went back to the house and cut two pieces from the rug in the hall. The others had in the meantime cooked some water and Belhast drenched one of the pieces of cloth with it. Then, after the cloth had cooled a little, he returned to the stable and wrapped the wet swathe around Dummy's ankle. He then tied the dry piece of cloth loosely over the swathe to keep it warm. He led Dummy to a stall next to Alagos and returned to the house, satisfied about that the horses were now safe and comfortable.

* * *

It took the whole of the next day before the swelling in Dummy's foot started to subside. Belhast had kept the injured part warm, changing the wet swathe after a few hours to a dry one, but in absence of medicine the treatment worked much slower. Therefore, the travellers stayed on the farm, getting a welcome rest. They had kept watch on the first night, however, in case of any unpleasant visitors and agreed to do likewise on the second night, too.

The first watch fell to Belhast, and he spent the time mostly by pacing to and fro between the road and the house. He did not fear anything from the direction of the field, since it would have been folly for anyone to approach from that direction. The dark shapes against the snow would have stood out even at night. Thus, Belhast concentrated his attention on the road and the woods across it. Everything was silent and motionless, however, and Belhast began to get very bored before long.

About two hours before midnight he yawned widely and stretched his arms, gazing lazily towards west. But suddenly he let his arms fall against his sides and his gaze focused on a spot some distance away. The reason for this sudden vigilance was that a faint flicker of a fire had kindled apparently on the top of a shallow hill some miles away. If the night sky had not been so clear, the tiny red flame would not have been even visible, but now it stood out like a firefly. Belhast squinted his eyes, trying to assess the size and the precise distance of the fire, but learned nothing new.

He turned on his heels and almost ran back to the house. He opened the door, rushed to the common room and shook the other men awake. When the latter rubbed their sleepy eyes, Belhast quickly told them what he had seen.

"Well, let's see it then," grumbled Finrosc. "But quickly, I want to get back to sleep."

They put their jackets and shoes on and walked to the road. Belhast didn't have to point out the fire, since it still shone clearly against the hillside.

"What do you think? Could it be brigands, or even Orcs?" Belhast asked, a little nervously.

"No sane brigand would light his campfire in such a place," Eglamir replied. "Not if he knew anything about his trade. The same applies to Orcs, of course. I daresay it is only some weary traveller like us."

"Too bad he was too weary to walk for two hours more, or he could have slept under a roof," Finrosc said, grinning. "Means more room for us, though, so I'm not complaining."

"Helpful and compassionate as ever, I see," replied Belhast with a smile. "I think I've overreacted, then. But better safe than sorry as they say."

"Quite," said Eglamir, turning towards the house. He added, yawning: "Wake me up when it is my watch."

The dunadan and Finrosc returned to continue their sleep and left Belhast alone again. He started to pace to and fro again, casting a swift glance at the bright flicker every time he came back to the road.

* * *

The next day the swelling on Dummy's foot had receded, and the men decided that they could finally go on with their journey. To be on the safe side they moved a third of Dummy's load on Alagos's back. Then they regretfully left the farm behind and continued eastwards.

The temperature rapidly rose during the morning and by noon the snow under the men's feet began to stick in their soles. Little droplets of water dripped from the boughs of the forest and there was a uncomfortably moist feel in the air. Heavy clouds had began to cover the sky already before the sunrise. During the journey of the morning Finrosc eyed the clouds suspiciously, and finally spoke:

"I fear it will snow before long. And it will fall thickly, mark my words."

"Yes, it definitely looks bad," replied Belhast, holding his bare hand aloft in the air. "The wind blows from the west, so with bad luck we'll get an extra portion of snow straight from the Sea."

He put his mitten on again and grimaced a little.

"Well, no one said our little walk would be a picnic."

"For one thing, we lack baskets full of wine and grapes," chuckled Finrosc.

"Not to mention the company of some lovely ladies," remarked Eglamir unexpectedly and with his peculiar smile.

Belhast raised his eyebrow to him for a split-second, then went on with the joke:

"Oh well, we had one, but unluckily she can't now grace us with her presence. So, definitely not a picnic."

"Well, one can always imagine," said Finrosc. "By the way, this talk of picnics and ladies brings memories to my mind. Have I ever told you about my adventures with a shopkeeper's daughter?"

"A thousand times," Belhast replied, "so please don't weary my ears."

Finrosc sighed melodramatically and spoke to Eglamir:

"Oh, what have I done so that I am punished with the company of that eternal killjoy?"

"Such is the lot of Man, and the world is not always fair," was the reply. "But did you not have a story? Please tell me that, if you will."

Finrosc happily complied and recounted the tale of a shopkeeper's daughter. The gist of the story was that Finrosc had managed to seduce the aforementioned young woman, but the father had finally almost caught him. He had been compelled to jump from a window, clad only in the girl's jacket, the only garment he had been able to find in the dark. Finrosc told the story with vivid detail, and finished:

"You may imagine that I felt somewhat foolish, running half-naked along the street and all that. But it all got better when I finally had the time to check the pockets of the jacket. There was a purse filled with copper coins, with some silver thrown in for good measure. So, basically, I sold my clothes to the old miser. I hope he was happy with the trade."

Eglamir flashed a dry smile, and Finrosc went on, insisting to sing the first verse of the song he had written and sung to the girl:

"You are sweet as honey,  
your eyes brighter than money.  
You are my own princess,  
nothing more and nothing less!"

This was new even to Belhast, who now burst into laughter.

"You really made that? Were you trying to kill her with laughter or what?"

"She actually liked it," Finrosc said with a lofty, offended air.

"Then she had no taste. Or was she perhaps deaf?" replied Belhast, still laughing.

"Come now, cut me some slack! I was then only starting to learn to make songs."

"Some could say you still have a lot to learn," grinned Belhast.

"Yes, perhaps some low barbarians with even lower tastes," was the quick retort, delivered with a smile.

* * *

They bantered like this for a little more, with Eglamir being a smiling observer. Doing this they forgot about the weather. But a few hours afterwards it started to snow – heavy, wet snowflakes that clung onto the travellers' woollen coats and caps and onto the horses' manes. The men had to constantly wipe themselves and the animals clean, as well as to drudge through the snow. This lasted for three hours, until all of them were thoroughly annoyed.

Fortunately they did not have to camp outside. When it was getting dark they arrived at a village of a dozen houses with an assortment of the necessary outbuildings. Sighing with relief and without wasting time the trio spotted the biggest house and entered it.

When inside, however, their feelings sank somewhat. Instead of the more or less warm welcome they had received before, the master of the house was not particularly helpful. He would have refused to give any help whatsoever, if the brothers would not have offered their services to him. After a little goading the man gruffly said to Belhast:

"Very well, I will let you all sleep in my house, if you really can see into the future as you say. But if I find that you are a cheat, I'll drive the three of you out, snow or no snow!"

Then he pointed at Finrosc with his meaty finger.

"And you, mind that your singing is as good as your tongue is glib! I don't like strangers, and the last thing I want is them torturing my ears. Oh, and the tricks of you two will pay only for the lodging. If you want food, you must have money."

To this the travellers agreed, even though they were secretly both annoyed and offended. They were too tired to argue or go around to village asking for another lodgings. Accordingly, they paid for their dinner and sat at the lowest places at the table when told to do so.

The food they got was tolerable, and the farmer's harsh words did not sting so much anymore when their bellies were full again. After the table was cleared Finrosc stepped in the middle of the room at the request, or rather command, of their host. Hearing that there were strangers in the village, most of the inhabitants had gathered to the house. They, however, were devoid of any enthusiasm and cast sullen looks at Finrosc, who nervously tuned his lute before starting to sing. He performed a few lays and a ballad, after which he was dismissed without so much as a thank you.

Then it was Belhast's turn. His reception was even colder than Finrosc's. In fact, many of those present seemed unwilling even to look at his direction when he sat down, wearing his professional cloak and shuffling the cards. The master of the house was the first to receive his prediction, after which his wife and children had their turn.

The cards seemed to be in a bad mood that night, since the combinations Belhast dealt did not make much sense. With good and bad cards next to each other in a hodgepodge order there was very little to grasp on. Therefore, Belhast thought more of what his "clients" wanted to hear than what the cards said when he spoke. The hard stare of his host made him sweat, but he managed to squeeze coherent and vaguely positive sentences out of himself while pretending to study the cards. He relaxed a little only after he had seen that he had convinced the family members.

After that a servant boy of the household timidly asked if he could also have a glimpse to the future. Belhast gave his assent, thinking that refusing could make the host angry. The boy, who was twelve at most, sat opposite the fortune-teller and he chose the lad's symbol card, asking him to divide the rest of the pack in three portions with his left hand, then to gather the pack together in the reverse order. The boy's hands trembled when he did so, holding the cards only with the tips of his fingers. Belhast had met people who were somewhat scared of everything connected to supernatural, but the servant's obvious fear still gave him food for thought. He asked the boy with as sympathetic voice as he could muster:

"Now, do you really want me to tell your fortune? I understand that you are nervous, and sometimes the cards can show bad things. I don't want to upset you."

The boy swallowed hard, but replied with false courage:

"It is well, sir. Please continue."

Belhast nodded with a reassuring smile and dealt a very simple formation that showed only the immediate future. He looked briefly at the cards and frowned. Then, carefully choosing his words, he spoke to the boy:

"Fate has kind words and a good dream in store for you for the next days. But, the cards advise you to be careful. I see an accident, maybe a small injury –"

Belhast had to stop his speech when the boy abruptly rose and stammered:

"Thank – thank you, sir! Good night, sir!"

Then the lad almost ran away, leaving Belhast sitting mouth open. The Gondorian quickly gathered his wits and looked around. Luckily, the master of the house had not seen the episode, conversing with two poorer farmers with his back towards the table. A few of the villagers, however, looked at him with scrutinizing eyes that were almost unsettling in their intensity. Belhast smiled feebly at them, but got no response.

Suddenly, Eglamir strode next to the table, laying his hand heavily on Belhast's shoulder.

"What did you say to that boy?" he said in a low, but stern voice.

"Nothing special, only that he was in a risk of a little accident," answered Belhast, confused with the other's hard manner.

"That was too much. It would have been best if you had invented something nice or better yet, kept quiet altogether," whispered Eglamir, as close to looking angry as Belhast had seen him.

The dunadan drew a breath and continued in an earnest fashion:

"Cannot you see that these people are crazed with fear and superstition? I have spoken with a few of them. Those who would even answer me told that they had seen dark shapes in the forest, flitting like shadows from tree to tree. They will not go outside the village after dark, not unless their lives depended on it. Also, they fear witchcraft which they believe is always threatening them. You had better hope that nothing evil befalls that boy!"

Belhast stroked his forehead, now seeing his folly. He rebuked himself, telling himself that he should have omitted the warning from his prediction. Still, it could not be helped anymore. Therefore, he stopped his self-flagellation and said:

"Yes, I certainly made a mistake. Fortunately the cards are not foolproof and nothing may happen, especially if he really heeds my words. If anyone else asks me for a prediction, I'll refuse politely."

Eglamir briefly nodded and straightened himself, saying aloud so that the nearby villagers could hear:

"It is late and I am tired. What do you say if we asked our host if we can retire to our lodgings?"

Belhast replied equally loud, faking a careless yawn:

"That's a very good idea."

He gathered his things and they joined Finrosc who sat on a bench next to the wall. Then they approached the host and asked very politely about their sleeping arrangements. The farmer almost spat the words out when he spoke:

"Go to the barn. The biggest one next to the field."

Finrosc replied as boldly as he dared:

"But I gathered that we would be allowed to sleep in the house?"

"What you fantasize and what's true are two different things. I don't have room inside. So it's the barn or nothing."

Seeing that arguing was useless, the men bade good night to the farmer and retired to the hall to get their overclothes. After donning them the trio gingerly walked outside and led the horses to the barn. While walking there, Belhast whispered to Eglamir:

"That man was even more hostile than before. Do you think this is because of my little blunder?"

"It may be so or it may not. All I know is that this is not a good place to be. I am loathe to stay, yet even more loathe to press on at night and in this weather. The wisest course we have is to rise early and leave with as little fuss as we can."

* * *

When at the barn, the men unloaded the horses' packages and set them and their backpacks inside, next to the doorway. After spreading covers on the backs of the animals they simply lied down and burrowed into the hay. Wrapping themselves into their cloaks they closed their eyes. For a short while an undefined fear lingered at the back of Belhast's mind, but he ignored it and soon managed to fall asleep.

He had slept only for a few hours, though, when he received a rude awakening. A small sound within the barn alerted him first, and he groggily opened his eyes. Before he could even blink many hands grabbed him violently and tossed him on his back. At the same moment many loud voices cried:

"Get them! Keep haste!"

Then, so suddenly that he could not act, Belhast's body was bundled inside his own cloak and securely tied. He was now bewildered, frightened and above all, completely helpless.

* * *

Read and review, please.


	30. Chapter 30: A Snowy Escape

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

* * *

Chapter 30: A Snowy Escape

When Belhast realized he was a prisoner, he tried to shout. But his voice was drowned in the commotion that had broken out next to him. Grunts and sounds of blows came from the darkness, as well as the frantic rustle of straw under struggling men. Belhast turned his head on his right and saw a dark bundle rolling to and fro only two feet away from him.

Suddenly a tall form rose from the hay, throwing two others aside. At the same moment someone struck light, and in the torchlight Belhast now could recognize Eglamir, who had been attacked by two villagers – indeed, now Belhast could also recognize his captors, their kind host among them. He cast a swift glance at his left and saw Finrosc, who was tied as well. They exchanged a helpless and dejected look, then concentrated again on the fight between Eglamir and the two peasants.

The dunadan directed a violent kick at one of his assailants, sending him rolling down from the pile. The second one tried to stand up, but got a heavy punch against his head. The man dropped instantly, blood flowing from his lips and nose. The first one stood up and, gasping with pained rage, rushed once more towards the dunadan. He was stopped short by Eglamir's swinging boot, which struck him in his stomach. The man bent in two, holding his stomach and trying to get some air into his suddenly emptied lungs. This exposed him for another blow, and Eglamir used the opportunity by striking the back of the villager's head with his elbow. The man fell next to his comrade, only half conscious and still struggling for air.

Eglamir did not wait for another attack, but leaped towards the hayloft at the back of the barn. He caught its rim with his hands and drew himself up before anyone could react. He stood up and drew his sword in a smooth, swift motion.

The gleam of the light on the blade made the mob drew back momentarily, but then the travellers' earlier host shouted:

"Are you afraid of one man? Kill him!"

Two men obeyed, rushing towards the hayloft holding a blacksmith's hammer and a pitchfork. The one carrying the hammer headed for the ladder that led to the loft. The other one made use of his weapon's reach and tried to stab Eglamir from below. The dunadan, however, acted fast and deflected the spikes aside with his sword. The peasant tried to draw the fork back, but Eglamir grasped it with his left hand and jerked it away from the man. Bringing his hand forward, he then jammed the butt-end of the pitchfork right against the peasant's chest. The man fell backwards with a stifled gurgle, and Eglamir threw the pitchfork down, swinging to his left.

Meanwhile, the hammerman had used the distraction and climbed on the hayloft. Holding his weapon aloft, he charged towards Eglamir. The dunadan was already facing him, however. The peasant swung the hammer, but Eglamir stepped backwards avoiding the blow. When the peasant swung his arm backwards to strike again, Eglamir directed a swift stab at it. The sword pierced flesh and tendons, forcing the villager to drop his hammer with a pained cry. Now unarmed, and faced with a grim foe, the peasant had no option but to try to flee. He managed only one step, however, before Eglamir snatched his collar and cast him down from the hayloft. Landing headlong on the hay, the stunned man crawled away. Eglamir, for his part, turned to look at the cursing and howling crowd with hard and menacing eyes. His scars were drawn tight baring the gap in his teeth, when he snarled:

"Anyone else?"

For a moment the villagers stalled, obviously frightened and unsure about what to do. But then the trio's previous host and another man broke from the ranks and ran to the brothers. Kneeling next to Belhast, the farmer held a knife at the fortune-teller's throat, shouting at Eglamir:

"Surrender, or we cut the sorcerers' throats!"

The dunadan bit his lips and lowered his sword a little. Finrosc, who was also menaced with a knife, cried out:

"Don't do it! They'll just kill you too!"

The villager guarding him pressed his knife against Finrosc's throat so that the blade just broke the skin.

"Shut up, or you die now!"

Finrosc fell silent and pressed his eyes tightly closed. The older farmer addressed Eglamir again:

"I count to ten, so choose fast! One... Two... Three... Four..."

Now Eglamir seemed to arrive at some conclusion, since his grip on his sword tightened and his whole body became visibly tense, as if he was preparing for some great effort. But whatever he planned, he did not have time to act. Suddenly a woman's voice cried out from behind the mob:

"Help! Fire!"

* * *

The unexpected interruption confused the mob, the nerves of which were already severely strained. A hubbub of voices started to talk and shout at the same time, and there was restless shifting among the crowd. The previous voice, however, carried again over the noise:

"Help, before the whole village burns!"

There indeed was a smell of smoke and a red glow coming from behind the surrounding barns. That decided the issue. At once a few of the villagers broke from the crowd and ran towards the village, and the rest followed their example with little hesitation. The men menacing Belhast and Finrosc stood up, too, and rushed out of the barn. Escape was still impossible, though, since two of the peasants had kept their heads calm and remained standing at the doorway, both holding axes. It was dark again, but one could see the outlines of the peasants against the snow and the sky. The sound of their breathing told that they were somewhat nervous, but their posture was alert. It was doubtful if even Eglamir could beat them both at once.

Now in the cover of the darkness, and determined to try everything, Belhast decided to attempt loosening his bonds. He took a deep breath and tensed his muscles, trying to spread his arms as wide as he could. The cords yielded a tiny fraction of inch at most, and Belhast let the air flow out of his lungs, relaxing his limbs at the same time. Then he repeated the procedure. The bounds loosened again, but very little. The whole thing looked now futile, and Belhast almost despaired. It could take the whole night to get free, and he did not have the luxury of so much time. And even if he broke free, what then? He was unarmed, and the villagers could split his head in two long before Eglamir could come to his aid. The moment of doubt was brief but agonizing. But then, shaking it off, Belhast thought to himself:

"Well, if all options are bad, I might as well try the least bad of them."

Belhast filled his lungs again and strained his limbs against the cords. But suddenly he breathed out, staring in amazement.

* * *

A shadowy figure stormed around the corner, attacking the guards. The peasants were too surprised to act, and the figure managed to strike one of them down with what looked like a long stick. The remaining villager cried out in anger and raised his axe. But it was too late for him.

At the same instant as the first blow fell, Eglamir threw himself down from the hayloft. He landed firmly on his feet and without a pause leaped at the peasant, holding his sword aloft. The villager tried desperately to turn to face the new threat, but he was too slow. Eglamir's hand rose and fell, bringing the pommel of his sword against the man's temple. It struck home with a nasty crack. The victim let out a moan of pain and fell to the ground, dropping his axe. Eglamir kicked the weapons away from the unconscious men and hastened to Finrosc's side, while their unknown helper knelt by Belhast with a drawn knife. Belhast looked closely at the stranger and gasped:

"Gutrune!"

* * *

"Who else?" the Northwoman tersely answered. Hearing her familiar voice, Belhast stammered:

"How– ? Why– ?"

"Shut up! There's no time for useless talk!" Gutrune snapped.

She freed Belhast with a few cuts of his knife and stood up.

"Get up, you two, and get your things! I don't know how long the fires will delay them."

The Gondorians obeyed, and after a frantic moment of searching and packing they were up and about. They had fortunately been tied for so short a time that their limbs had not stiffened much. In another moment they were out of the barn. In yet another stroke of luck, they found their horses where they had left them. The villagers had seemingly been so keen on seizing the "sorcerers" first that they had not bothered with the animals or the trio's possessions. The men and Gutrune haphazardly loaded the horses. Then Gutrune spoke to the others again, pointing towards the forest that skirted the village's fields:

"Follow me! We must get deep in the woods before the mob returns."

She trotted away as fast as she could, and the men followed her at her heels. The snow hindered them, but in a few minutes they already were in the cover of the trees. Snow fell now thick from the sky, and the quartet could not see the buildings anymore, even though they were only a small distance away from the village. At their left only an open space, where wind cast snowflakes about in tall spirals, hinted of the field. Now only two pinkish spots in the darkness told of the fires in the village.

Turning away, the fugitives struggled onwards for perhaps a quarter an hour before anyone spoke again.

"Very well, does anyone have any ideas about how to proceed?" Gutrune said, stopping and facing the men.

"What? I thought you had a plan in your mind!" Finrosc exclaimed.

"You really think I paused to write down a hundred-page treatise about how to rescue you?" was the reply, dripping with sarcasm. "I don't think you'd have appreciated that. I did what I could."

"Of course. Sorry," mumbled Finrosc, for once unable to invent a witty retort.

"Enough of this," Eglamir broke in. "If I may take charge, I would advise we went in a single file. I go first lest we get hopelessly lost and the last one wipes our traces away. In this weather they will disappear soon enough, but better to be safe."

The others assented to this, and Belhast stepped aside to cut a fir branch. He had scarcely put his knife away, when a multitude of voices broke out in a cry in the direction of the village. The noise was muffled and distorted by the snow and barely audible, but it was evident that their disappearance had been discovered. As soon as the noise started, Eglamir started to run deeper in the woods, signing the others to follow.

* * *

They progressed onwards with such speed as they could manage, with Eglamir in the lead. Behind him came Finrosc and Gutrune, leading the horses. Belhast kept the rear, wiping their traces with the branch in his hands. When looking forward, he could hardly see his companions as shadowy forms, even though they were only a few yards away. The snowfall was so heavy that the marks of passage disappeared in the matter of minutes, creating a layer of seemingly undisturbed snow. If they were even pursued, it was now a hopeless task. That fact heartened the quartet, but they still did not slow down or pause for a long time.

They continued like this for some hours. With some unerring instinct Eglamir had kept a more or less straight course, as far as Belhast could tell. Of the direction they were going he could not guess anything except that it was roughly to the northeast. Wading through the knee-deep snow was tiring, as was the constant wiping of their traces, but he kept doing it nonetheless. The thought of angry villagers finding them was quite unenticing to him, after all.

It was only in the small hours of the morning when they finally paused for a while. They ate a hurried meal of biscuits and dried fish. They remained silent all the while out of caution and tiredness. After eating they took the time to balance the horses' load. During this operation Belhast finally broke the silence by asking:

"So, what next?"

"We will find a sheltered spot and camp there," replied Eglamir.

"But if we are pursued?" said Finrosc.

"I daresay we are not," was the answer. "Even if they gave chase at all, they surely have long gone back. Their fear of the dark forest must have been greater than their desire to kill us. So, at the moment we have greater need of rest and warmth than of security."

"Well, that sounds reasonable," mused Finrosc. "Let's do how you say. But surely we can't remain here to be buried under snow?"

"Of course not. There are many gorges and kettle holes in this land. We shall surely find one soon."

With that, they went on, still in a single file. Before leaving, Belhast had buried the fir branch in the snow, since it was no longer necessary. As a consequence he could now keep better up with the others, walking right behind Gutrune who was leading Dummy at her side. After a while of walking, he spoke to her:

"By the way, how did you appear so suddenly? And from where?"

"Well, I'll answer those questions when all can hear. I'm too tired to explain it separately to every one of you," Gutrune answered, adding: "For the moment, suffice it to say that sometimes insomnia is a good thing."

"I see," Belhast said, even though he had no idea what she was talking about. After a short pause he said: "In any case, thank you! We were in a pretty tight spot indeed."

Gutrune turned her head and even though Belhast could not see her smile in the darkness, he could hear it in her voice:

"You are welcome."

Belhast did not reply, but remained lost in his thoughts. Even though the situation still was far from ideal, he felt wonderful. Of course, relief was the main component in his mix of emotions, but it also felt good that their saviour happened to be Gutrune of all people. Belhast had thought little about her after the Forsaken Inn, but now he realized that he had missed her a little. That bothered him, but he pushed the worry aside. For the moment he decided to let useless thoughts be and concentrate on getting somewhere warm.

* * *

After two miles more they finally found a good spot to camp. It was a long, deep hollow between two ridges that joined into one at their southern end. Thus, the fork had its only opening towards the north, providing cover from observation. The hollow was thickly wooded and the snow did not bother the fugitives nearly as much as earlier.

They lit their campfire at the narrowest end of the hollow, erecting their shelters so that they prevented the glow from being seen farther than a few yards. When that was done, they unloaded the horses and gathered around the fire to talk.

"Now that we are safe for the time being, I deem we should decide on our further course," said Eglamir.

"Well, that's an easy one. We'll get as far from here as soon as we can," Finrosc replied. "Still, I think we should avoid roads for a few days. The villagers may alert all patrols that happen to pass the village."

"Or they may not," countered Gutrune. "They have had time to cool off and may realize that they are deeper in trouble as we would be if they tattled to the soldiers. They tried to kill you on mere suspicion, after all."

"Good point, but I wouldn't count on it. But then again, what about the horses? I don't think they will survive a long hike in the woods," said Belhast. "Not in winter and without feed. I don't like it, but we must strike for a road. What do you think, Eglamir?" he added.

"I rather side with Finrosc. If I were alone, I would definitely keep to the woods for a few days. But as it is, with animals and everything, I think we should try a compromise. I propose we camp here until the weather gets better, then head slightly to the southeast for a day. That way we can make progress and will still arrive at the Road a safe distance away from the village, I think."

"That sounds fine to me. How about you, Hasty?" said Finrosc.

Belhast shrugged, saying:

"I can't think anything better, so suits fine to me."

Gutrune for her part only nodded, saying:

"I agree with the dunadan."

That being settled, they started to cook food to give strength to their tired bodies. While the water was still heating, Gutrune approached Finrosc, looking closely at his wounded throat.

"May I plaster that up?" she asked.

For a moment Finrosc looked hard at her, but then he suddenly smiled. Drawing his collar down, he said:

"I guess you may."

The wound was fortunately not deep, as only the skin had been cut. A few drops of blood, however, still trickled from it whenever Finrosc moved his head. He winced when Gutrune set a plaster of spider webs on the injury, gluing a somewhat faded leaf on it with some sticky substance. When finished, she examined her handiwork and said:

"You had luck, since getting wounded in the throat is always a coin toss. A fraction of an inch deeper and you could have bled dry in a matter of moments."

Finrosc touched his throat nervously.

"Oh?"

"Yes, but for this it's enough that you keep the plaster on it over the night. Wrap a scarf over it so that it stays warm," Gutrune advised.

Finrosc promised to do that, but then he suddenly became thoughtful. He asked:

"How about my voice? Is there a risk that it'll get damaged?"

Gutrune sighed in an exasperated manner.

"Men! One has just escaped death by a hair's breath and what does he worry about? His voice, of all things!"

"Well, I make my living with it, after all," protested Finrosc. "So I think it's not unreasonable –"

"Oh, cut it and get your bowl," interrupted Belhast, who was just tasting from a steaming kettle. "The food is ready."

Even the simple stew of bacon and vegetables Belhast and Eglamir had prepared was in this moment like a royal banquet. They ate in silence, but when they had finally ended their meal Belhast turned towards Gutrune.

"Well, how about you told us now how and from where on earth did you come?"

* * *

Read and review, please.


	31. Chapter 31: Sitting In Snow

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

Chapter 31: Sitting In Snow

"No great mystery in that," Gutrune said, smiling. "I come from the Forsaken Inn, just as you. And as for how, I walked. You, however, must have travelled at a snail's pace, since I left a day and a half after you."

"We were delayed," answered Belhast, continuing by telling Gutrune about the mishap with Dummy and the stay at the abandoned farm. He added:

"But how come you travel alone? I thought you were going to find some company."

An expression of displeasure crossed Gutrune's face.

"I tried, but few were travelling eastwards, and of those no one would take me with them. They seemed to think I was a woman of ill repute, even though no one said as much."

She shrugged and went on:

"Well, I think I really am a strange bird, so I don't blame them. So, I got impatient of waiting and left alone. I can tell you that I was pretty nervous, especially after the wolf incident, but what could I do? I walked for long spells and slept as little as I could, since I didn't want to get surprised at night."

"I see," Finrosc interrupted. "But how did you happen to stumble in that village in the middle of the night?"

"Oh, I just didn't feel sleepy this evening and decided to march on until I'd tire. I didn't like the weather, either, and hoped that by some chance I'd come at a farm or a village." Gutrune gave the men a wry smile. "And I did, but it wasn't quite like what I had thought. As soon as I reached the first houses, I knew that something was amiss. I saw a bunch of men gathering together in the front of the biggest house of the place. There was something queer in their manner, so I decided not to let them see me before I knew what they were up to."

She drew a short breath and went on:

"I sneaked into the shadow of a house, and listened their talk. They spoke in a low tone, but I was able to gather that a servant had fallen in stairs and got hurt, and they thought it was due to the evil eye or a spell. They spoke about how to capture the 'sorcerers' that had done it, and their dunadan friend. I suspected they meant you, even though I wondered why you had travelled so slowly. In any case it sounded very worrying, and I decided to act."

Finrosc looked at her, exclaiming:

"The fires! You lit them, didn't you?"

Gutrune nodded.

"I did. I had no clear plan, but knew that I needed a diversion. I quickly rummaged through a storage shed and found some torches. They were just what I needed and after snatching them I went into a shed where clothes were stored and lit the torch. I held it against the rafters, which took fire quite nicely. I threw the flaming torch under the hanging clothes and ran into the next building, which happened to be a clothes storage, also. There I just did the same thing as previously and retreated at the edge of the village."

"That was a risky thing to do," Eglamir said. "Someone could well have seen you."

"Oh, I did know that full well," Gutrune answered. "I kept skirting the walls and corners, to stay in the darkest spots. I was pretty nervous, as you may well imagine, but all went well. When I finally was concealed against the corner of the last house, I took a look if I had been successful in my attempts. It took a few moments, but then the flames finally shot through the roofs. When I saw that, I raised a loud cry of fire, banging at the door of the house. Then I just returned to my hiding place and watched the show peering around the corner."

She paused, and seeing that the men listened to her with close attention, she went on:

"A woman rushed out of the door I had pounded on and immediately saw the burning buildings. It took her a moment to realize what was happening, but then she really got moving. She yelled at the top of her lungs and ran through the snow like she was being pursued by an evil spirit. Through the falling snow I saw faint forms scurrying to and fro and heard shouts and doors banging.

Then I just slipped into the cover of trees and circled around the village until I reached the barn. I sneaked along the wall facing the fields when I that woman alerted the men and they ran off. The rest you know."

The men nodded, and the conversation ceased. All were tired, so they hastily set up shelters around the fire and settled for the night with the exception of Eglamir, who volunteered to take the first watch.

* * *

The morning was half gone when Belhast started to stir. He raised his head groggily, blinking because of the grey light. After a moment of reluctance he threw his blankets aside and sat up. He felt somewhat rested, but also like he had forgotten something. Scratching his head, he turned his eyes towards the campfire by which he saw Eglamir sitting. A realization dawned on him:

"What on earth, Eglamir? Why didn't you wake me for my watch?"

Eglamir replied, poking the fire leisurely with a stick:

"I saw the rest of you were weary, so I decided to let you sleep. How about you shook the others awake? I think it is their turn to cook breakfast."

Belhast shoved Finrosc with his elbow and crawled out of the shelter. He shook his limbs vigorously, while speaking again:

"I'd think you could have used some sleep, too, especially after the little exercise we got last night."

Eglamir waved his hand dismissively.

"I do not need much rest. There is no need to talk more of it."

"Well, if you say so."

* * *

An hour afterwards everyone had already eaten and they held a brief council about what to do. It snowed still quite heavily, even though not quite as much as at night. Therefore, the quartet decided to camp that day in the hollow. As a security measure it was decided that they would keep a watchman during the day on the top of the ridge circling the hollow they were in. Belhast was chosen to take the first turn and he promptly proceeded to scramble up the slope.

When he reached the top, he searched for a suitable spot and found it quite soon. There was a big trunk of a fallen tree lying against a great boulder. The trunk formed a roof of sorts which, together with thick bushes growing around the boulder, gave shelter from falling snow and from vision from almost all directions. Belhast cut juniper branches and spread them on the bottom of the hollow space between the tree and the stone. He sat on them, drawing his cloak around him.

From his vantage point he could see to the southwest as far as the weather permitted. No one could approach from there without him seeing it. Even though the range of vision was limited, Belhast could not but admire the rugged beauty of this land. Before him spread a snowy forest dotted with mossy boulders, deep hollows and steep ridges. The snow was the only light colour and even it was cold and comfortless in its whiteness. Otherwise, the stern grey of stone and the dark brown of the trees prevailed, together with the almost blackish green of the fir needles. Compared to the lush groves and fruitful orchards of Gondor, this was a harsh and unforgiving land. Still, the sight had an air of majesty of a kind, like a greying king dressed in dark armour.

Looking at the alien landscape Belhast again sorely missed his home. Not perhaps precisely the little house or the narrow streets of Minas Anor, but the sun of the Gondorian summer and the green, open countryside rolling southwards from the White Mountains. Suddenly, the whole quest he was engaged in depressed him. Yes, he and Finrosc had already covered hundreds of miles in mere three months, a feat that was not despicable. But there were many times more leagues in store for them, and it seemed the going was getting more dangerous the farther they got.

Belhast tried to think of something more cheerful, and succeeded partially. At least he was not particularly hungry nor tired and he had dry, warm clothes on. So, at the moment there was nothing to complain of.

* * *

He was still engaged in these thoughts, when Gutrune's voice alerted him.

"Beleg! Belhast? Or whatever your real name is?"

He stood up and called out:

"Over here, behind the boulder!"

In a moment Gutrune appeared from behind the stone, carrying a bag in her hands.

"Hello! Anything happened?"

"No," Belhast answered. "But what are you doing here?"

"I just thought you could enjoy some tea and bread. It is nearly midday, after all."

Belhast sat down again and Gutrune gave him the bag. He said:

"Thanks. And by the way, it is Belhast."

Gutrune nodded.

"Well, that's good to know. This whole charade has confused me to no end."

She pointed to the ground next to the man.

"May I sit for a moment?"

Belhast moved a little and Gutrune squeezed herself next to him. For a short while they sat in silence, before Gutrune hesitantly said:

"About the name thing and all... Sorry if I am rude, but could you explain even some of that? What are two Gondorians doing in these parts anyway?"

Belhast took a long gulp from the tin canteen that he had found in the bag. He smacked his lips, tasting the warm tea and swallowing it slowly, before he answered:

"I can't tell you much, since my skin is in line if something goes amiss. Suffice it to say that I and Finrosc have something to do. A long way from here."

"In Esgaroth?"

"Maybe, maybe not. As for the names, I think you have already guessed we aren't exactly the type who like to publicly announce who they really are."

Gutrune chuckled a little.

"Oh, I daresay so!"

Belhast looked at her sharply.

"Why did you then rejoin us? I'd think you would have had enough of shady types for a lifetime."

Gutrune laughed.

"Well, I had to help you out of that fix, hadn't I? Besides, I'm not exactly lily-white either. Who am I? A strange woman from a foreign land with a suspicious past! Who am I to judge anyone?"

Belhast didn't join in her merriment, but frowned. When Gutrune saw this, she got serious again:

"Ah, you still worry about the money? Listen, now. Do you really think I am as stupid as to try the same trick twice? Especially now, when there's a third man around, too?"

Belhast gave her a lop-sided smile.

"I guess not. But speaking of suspicious pasts, I'd like to know why you came to Eriador in the first place?"

It was now Gutrune's turn to frown.

"Again, that is not a thing I will tell anybody. I had a reason to leave home, and still have a reason to keep away. Let that be enough for you. Understood?"

"Understood," Belhast said before smiling again. "We four make a splendid company indeed! Everyone keeps secrets from everyone but here we are anyway, sitting in the snow together!"

"But doesn't that mean we all have at least something in common?" was Gutrune's amused reply.

They chuckled shortly, and Belhast attacked with his teeth the bread Gutrune had brought. It was only after the last piece had disappeared that it occurred to him that the food might have been drugged. He cursed himself: Why had he been so quick to trust Gutrune again? But then common sense prevailed. He was not feeling anything strange, and besides, it was as Gutrune said. To try to drug three men and rob them without a fast route of escape would have been the height of folly.

So instead of worries, he concentrated at the landscape before him. It was not so easy as before, however, since the presence of the Northwoman distracted him. In the small space they sat so close to each other that Belhast could feel Gutrune's every breath and every small move. The closeness, however, was more comfortable than cramped. Even the silence they now kept felt not at all awkward. For a while they just sat, watching the small clouds of steam their breath produced to mingle and vanish into the air.

"By the way, have you looked at this scenery?" said Gutrune at last.

"What do you think I've been doing for hours?" replied Belhast.

Gutrune scoffed and shoved his side with her elbow in mock annoyance.

"Very funny! I meant that have you noticed how, well, grand this all is?" she said, making a sweeping gesture with her hand.

"As a matter of fact, I have," replied Belhast, somewhat surprised. "I was just thinking that when you arrived."

"Oh, so you know what I mean!" exclaimed Gutrune with delight that was maybe a little strong for the subject. "This was the first thing I noticed when I came down the Redhorn Pass. The amount of trees, that is. We have no forests in Rhovanion, so it felt strange. It still feels sometimes."

She turned to look at Belhast.

"How about you in Gondor? Are there woods there?"

"Yes, but nothing of this size," Belhast answered. "Unless maybe in Ithilien. And everything there is greener and richer. Yet, this place is wilder than any grove or forest in Gondor. I don't know why. Maybe it's the cold."

"Or the size. I daresay a squirrel could hop from tree to tree all the way from here to the Mountains."

Belhast shrugged.

"Maybe. Speaking of cold, sitting here isn't very warm, either. I think my watch ends soon. Do you remember who was the next in turn?"

"Finrosc was," answered Gutrune, standing up. "Well, I think I'll go back. I can remind him if he has forgotten his turn."

Belhast handed her the bag she had brought, now with only the empty canteen inside it.

"Thanks again for food, the tea especially warmed nicely."

"You're quite welcome," Gutrune said, smiling at him. "I was glad to stretch my legs a bit, anyway. It gets so boring to huddle beside a fire all the day. But, see you soon!"

She strode off through the snow and disappeared behind the boulder. Belhast sat still for a while, but then rose silently and turned to peer over the fallen trunk. Gutrune was already nearing the downwards slope, her feet slipping once or twice as she walked briskly away. The slight north wind carried a merry tune she was humming to Belhast's ears. He broke a thin branch from the trunk, sat back to his seat and frowned in thought, while absent-mindedly drawing figures in the snow.

* * *

Read and review, please.


	32. Chapter 32: An Unpleasant Surprise

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

Chapter 32: An Unpleasant Surprise

The next morning the travellers left their camp, since the snowfall had lessened to a tolerable level, yet would still conceal their traces. They burned the branches they had used for their shelters, cooking their breakfast on the merrily blazing fire. After eating they carefully removed all marks of their presence and set off. Eglamir took the lead, choosing an east-southeastern direction that would take the company back to the road by the evening of the following day if nothing special happened.

Eglamir's plan was sound enough: They encountered no one save a few curious squirrels and foxes while they trudged through the snow-covered woods. The sun was just touching the horizon on the day after their departure when they finally hit the Road again. Being too tired to even think of further travel, the company made their camp and were soon fast asleep.

* * *

The following two days were almost equally uneventful. Tired and hindered with snow, the quartet could go less than twenty miles a day. The terrain continued as wild as before. It was only on the second day when they came to an inhabited region. At first they encountered only a few abandoned farms. The buildings of one had been burned to ground and even the stone well in the middle of the courtyard had been broken, the stones scattered around. Some pieces of furniture lay on the ground too, covered by snow. Still, when the wind lazily wiped them bare, one could see traces of an axe in the splintered wood. All in all, it was evident that the place had been attacked. Belhast looked at the scene with a depressed and anxious mood. He hoped that the inhabitants had managed to escape.

Eglamir, for his part, stopped for a moment to look at the sad sight, with an impenetrable expression. He appeared calm on the surface as always but the others could see him slowly clenching his hands into tight fists and quietly muttering a few angry-sounding words.

The dúnadan then checked himself and abruptly turned away. He strode away with a brisk pace that compelled the others to follow him half running. He only slowed down when the others had twice called to him to do that. He offered no explanation for his apparent agitation and his companions weren't keen to ask either after seeing his gloomy look.

Eglamir's mood, however, visibly lifted again when the quartet reached a village of some twenty houses, where they stopped to buy feed for the horses. There was a high wooden palisade surrounding the northern side of the village and the houses were big and sturdy. For the first time in Rhudaur the travellers now saw painted buildings and people who were not care-worn or stricken with terror. Instead, the villagers seemed to be in good spirits and excellent health when they hurried from one task to another. They talked gladly with the travellers, eagerly asking for news from afar lands. Their own speech was of more homely things like the prospects of the next harvest or the health of the cows and pigs. It was very familiar talk to Belhast and Finrosc from their childhood and they listened to the villagers with relish, enjoying the trust for the future their every word testified of. Whatever was wrong in the kingdom of Rhudaur, in this village there was no trouble, no paralysing fear that seemed to taint the rest of the land.

The quartet soon managed to find a farmer willing to sell hay and barley. After doing business they chatted a little with the friendly peasant.

"Why have you the palisade? Against wolves?" asked Belhast.

"Them, and bandits," was the reply. "Come spring we'll complete the circle around the village."

The farmer then proudly pointed towards north, over fields that lay there.

"You see the brink of the forest there? We have traps there, pits and upright spikes. I daresay no wolf, on four legs or two, will reach our homes from that direction."

"You really seem to have paid attention on your security," said Finrosc politely.

"We have. Every man here has a bow and a hunting spear, also. Whoever tries to rob us will get his wages. The King has his troops but they can't be everywhere. If a man has not even the protection of his King he must be his own guardian."

"Wisely said, my good man," said now Eglamir with an approving nod. "But now we must take our leave, if you please. Good bye and all good to you!"

They left the village and walked for nearly a mile in silence. But then, contrary to his custom, Eglamir smiled broadly and spoke to Belhast without being addressed first:

"What makes you mope so? Was that place not wonderful?"

Belhast, who had showed a long face for half an hour, sourly replied:

"Wonderful? I don't know about that but at least they have a wonderful sense for money! I daresay our horses eat now more expensively than us."

Eglamir laughed.

"Ah, but that is just how it should be! The people in the village yonder know their own good. If only all folk in these kingdoms were like them, so bold and so confident of the strength in their arms! Then the accursed North would not be the black cloud over our days and the terror of our nights. No, but instead the marauders from the icy wastes would tremble with the fear of our swords!"

His eyes shone now with a fire the others had never before seen. He was like another man, so much more lively and enthusiastic he was than usually. Laying his hand on the hilt of the sword on his side and raising his gaze to the sky he continued in a vehement voice:

"Oh, a prosperous, brave people under a strong and wise king – my dream and my hope!"

"Why yours?" Gutrune asked hesitantly, somewhat taken aback by the dúnadan's burst of enthusiasm. "You are but a common soldier, after all."

Eglamir started a little and lowered his eyes to look at his companions again. The flame that had burned in them slowly dimmed and was replaced by their usual wary, watchful glint.

"That is the dream of every decent man and woman in these days and in these lands," Eglamir said slowly, with a thoughtful air. "You three, born in foreign and happier lands, cannot understand what it means to see the land of your birth slowly wither and die. You cannot grasp how it feels to see despair and selfishness reigning everywhere when courage and steadfastness are the only salvation. You cannot– "

He was getting heated again but stopped short, rubbing his forehead with his hand. Then he went on more calmly:

"Ah, what is the use in all these words? It is strong hands and minds that are needed. Until these three kingdoms have enough of them, until the land has awakened from its nightmare of fear, all I have said is only idle talk. Only talk– "

His voice trailed away, so that the last word was only barely heard:

"– yet."

Gutrune looked embarrassed and said:

"I'm sorry if I offended you. I was not aware you feel so strongly about this."

"'Tis naught," Eglamir said with a small smile. "I come from a people with long lives and long memories. Sometimes I think of the days of gone splendour, not five generations of the dúnedain away, and then the present times seem to be evil and heavy to bear. But the feeling has passed for now. Let us continue our journey."

The others had no objection and they resumed walking. Gutrune tried to start a light conversation with Belhast, but gave up soon when the man absent-mindedly replied in monosyllables. His mind was occupied by Eglamir's outburst. He could not make anything sensible of the dúnadan's surprising passion.

His train of thought was interrupted by a small poke to his side. He looked at his left and saw Finrosc winking his eye at him. The bard whispered:

"Keep your eyes open. He's an odd fish to be sure."

"Yes, he is. Still, whatever he's up to it can't be about us."

"How do you know?"

"I feel it. Still, there's something queer about him. But what?"

"Who knows? Let's be careful. But hush now!"

Finrosc touched his lips lightly with his forefinger as Gutrune neared them.

"What are you fellows so serious about?"

"Nothing much," replied Finrosc. "I only told Hasty that I'll eat my lute if the weather doesn't get colder soon. See how the sky is clearing? That means frost."

"Hm," Gutrune said, apparently losing her interest. "Maybe."

Finrosc again gave Belhast's side a little shove meant to look playful, then strode forward and engaged Eglamir in a lively but rather one-sided talk, leaving Belhast and Gutrune walking behind.

"So, what was your conference really about?" Gutrune asked nonchalantly, while patting Dummy's neck with an ostensibly careless air.

"He told you already. The weather," Belhast said curtly.

"I see. A bit strange it is, however, when there are more interesting subjects."

"Like?"

Gutrune nodded her head slightly towards Eglamir.

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe him, for instance."

Belhast formed his face in the best expression of surprise he could manage.

"Why?"

Gutrune scoffed.

"Playing stupid is the game of the day, isn't it?"

She shook her head and changed the subject:

"Speaking of other people, what is the tie between you and Finrosc, if I may ask?"

Belhast frowned at her.

"How is that your business?"

Gutrune sighed.

"Please, don't be so cranky! You seem to think that every word carries a trap with it. But I ask only because I am curious. The way you speak and act with each other isn't what I'd expect from mere friends. Yet, it is equally clear you aren't– " She blushed. "Never mind."

It took Belhast some moments to grasp Gutrune's meaning but then he got it. He laughed long and heartily.

"Aren't something unnatural, you mean? Oh no! If you have to know, we are brothers."

"But you don't even look at all alike!" Gutrune exclaimed with surprise.

Belhast pondered rapidly if he should bother to clarify. Then he decided to go for it. It was a harmless piece of information anyway.

"Foster-brothers, I should have said. We've grown together since we were two years old."

"I see," Gutrune replied, evidently wanting to hear more. Belhast chuckled at her eager expression.

"If I am playing stupid then you are doing a good job impersonating a cat, or a squirrel! Just as curious."

"I can't help it," said Gutrune, smiling. "I love digging to the bottom of anything that interests me, even if I burn my paws."

"No risk of that with my life story," Belhast laughed. "On the contrary, you'd be bored to death to hear it all."

Their talk then drifted to other channels while the weary miles passed away.

* * *

That day, and the morning of the next, they travelled through the belt of villages and farms. A few of the farms were abandoned and in most of the villages there were at least some houses with smokeless chimneys and with no light peering through the shutters. When asked, the peasants spoke of many people moving either to the central areas of Rhudaur east of the Hoarwell and near Cameth Brin or, increasingly, to Arthedain and Cardolan.

But during the afternoon the Road again plunged into the endless woods, dotted only by a collier's hut here and there, or far-smelling tar kilns. When the evening fell the travellers again had to make their mirthless camp in the shade of great trees.

The night passed peacefully and the quartet started again an hour before the sunrise. For three hours they walked on without encountering anything remotely interesting or unusual. But some time before the noon Finrosc suddenly pointed to their left.

"Look! There's a mark on the oak there!"

He strode over to the tree and looked more closely. In the crudely-made picture three wavy lines crossed a small circle, with a small arrow pointing to the woods.

"A spring!" Finrosc said with apparent satisfaction. "Now that came just at the right time. We can water the horses and cook our lunch with half the time and fuss."

"And I can fill my waterskin," remarked Gutrune, starting to untie the said object from her belt.

Finrosc took the bucket from Dummy's back and leaped over the ditch on the northern side of the road. He took a few steps in the snow before realizing that Belhast was not following him. He called to him, somewhat irritably:

"Take the pans and come, if you please! What's taking you so long?"

Belhast, who had been studying the mark, slowly replied:

"Strange! This looks like it was made just this morning. The cuts are still fresh and sharp."

"And what of it?" said Finrosc, starting to wade through the snow, followed by Gutrune.

"Just that we have seen no footprints going east before us. Nor are there any traces of anyone coming from west to here. So, who carved this?"

"A fairy for all I care," replied Finrosc who was now half covered with bushes. "I'm not going to sit for hours watching some bloody lump of snow melting! I will get that water, fresh cuts or no."

Suddenly Eglamir, who had been silent and thoughtful, raised his hand.

"Wait! Come back, you two, and fast! We must get away! I fear this is a–"

His sentence was cut short by a bellowing sound of a horn from the southern side of the Road. That was followed by an answering yell from many throats from the northern side. Eglamir instantly drew his sword, but the others froze to their place. Before they could react, about ten men sprang up from the bushes a few yards away from Finrosc and Gutrune. Two more leapt on the road over the southern ditch, bellowing a war cry. They, as well as most of the others, wore furs and leather armour covered by white, linen cloaks or coats.

"Run for it!" Eglamir shouted, but it was too late. The attackers had already seized Finrosc and Gutrune, pummelling them to the ground with punches from their gloved fists. The two captives were still struggling fiercely, but it was only a matter of time before they would be overpowered.

Belhast looked on with horror, having barely the presence of mind to grasp the hilt of his sword and draw the blade. He wheeled around when clash of metal and a cry of pain behind his back alerted him. He saw Eglamir standing over a man lying on the ground. The dúnadan stepped back, giving the bandit's head a hard kick and wheeling to face the other one.

Belhast could force himself to move only when the second man on the road rushed at Eglamir. For half a second he cast a glance at the struggle in the midst of the bushes, but seeing it would be hopeless to try anything alone, he sprang forwards to help Eglamir.

The bandit and Eglamir were already engaged in a fierce combat, striking and parrying with their swords, when Belhast reached them. In two leaps he got behind the bandit and stabbed blindly at him. The short sword sunk halfway to the lower back of the massive bandit, tearing a cry of anguish out of him. The man did not fall but staggered, giving Eglamir a perfect opening. The dúnadan swung his sword in a flashing arc. The blade hit the bandit's neck squarely, almost severing his head. Blood flying in every direction, the man thudded heavily onto the ground.

Belhast did not have time even to wipe the red stains from his face, since Eglamir was in instant at his side and gripped his collar.

"To the horses! We must flee!"

"But, but the others–?" Belhast stammered, still scared and bewildered.

"Cannot be helped now!" Eglamir replied, dragging and pushing the unresisting Gondorian towards the horses.

In an instant they reached their steeds, and when Belhast hesitated Eglamir unceremoniously grasped him by the collar and belt. An upwards jerk accompanied by a grunt, and in a second the fortune-teller found himself in the saddle, still convulsively grasping his sword. Eglamir mounted Alagos in a single leap and took Dummy's reins in his left hand, exclaiming:

"Hold tight, man!"

Without more ado Eglamir spurred the warhorse and it leaped forwards. Belhast almost fell from the saddle when Dummy followed with a jerk. Somehow, he managed to stay mounted and to grasp Dummy's mane with his left hand as the horses galloped wildly away from the scene of the battle.

It was none too soon that they managed to escape. From the corner of his eye Belhast could catch a glimpse of Gutrune lying on the ground, kicking and straining against bounds, and of Finrosc with his back against a tree, futilely trying to strike at the bandits with the wooden bucket he still held. Seeing the two would-be victims escaping, the bandits gave a furious cry. Three of them ran towards the road, trying to cut the escape route. But they were too late. All they could do was to leap aside to avoid to be ridden over.

The following minute was a chaos of shouts, the clatter of the hooves and the heavy footsteps of running bandits. But then the two fugitives were clear of their pursuers. Looking over his shoulder, Belhast saw the bandits giving up the chase and dashing to the woods on both sides of the road. It was only a glimpse, though, since in an instant the horses were around a bend of the road and all he could see was the whirl of passing trees and bushes as they galloped towards the east.

* * *

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